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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332632">The Dead of Winter (Night Heiress 3.5)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgeandlilly/pseuds/Redgeandlilly'>Redgeandlilly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Anita Blake: Night Heiress [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Badass normal, Butchering French language and culture, F/F, F/M, Fix-it fic, Gen, Gratuitous use of the words flavor and spill, Light Angst, Mommy Issues, Spitefic, all the homo in the world, bisexual Anita, gratuitous and possibly inaccurate French, raging bicuriosity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:22:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>47,774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgeandlilly/pseuds/Redgeandlilly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Death has come to St. Louis, and he's cashing in a favor.</p>
<p>Lockridge, a town nestled deep in the wilds of Minnesota, has had a storied history with the supernatural. With thirty dead under mysterious circumstances, a potential terrorist threat, and no suspects in sight, the scant police force is desperate for answers. </p>
<p>Whispers of an evil too great to name circulate the citizenry, frightening even vampires. Edward, Anita, and his crew must find the culprit before snow seals the road out of town, trapping them in Lockridge with a killer and worse—dead that Anita can't control.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anita Blake/Jean-Claude (Anita Blake), Anita Blake/Jeanette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Anita Blake: Night Heiress [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Trigger Warning: Discussion of rape, suicide, and controversial topics.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Suicide is not murder. </p>
<p>Now, there were a lot of people who loved to argue that point. The Catholic Church was adamant in their stance, no matter what the metaphysics said. I knew it wasn't murder because this was the fifth time I'd be calling Caleigh Sloan from her grave. Murder victims rose as berzerkers, with only one clear thought in mind—find their killer, and kill them back. The only thing Caleigh wanted was to stay dead. </p>
<p>Murder was done with malice, and that left a mark metaphysically. Suicide was pain turned inward. Intent mattered. </p>
<p>Caleigh's grave was tucked into a corner of Gatewood Gardens Cemetery, the newest addition to the Sloan family plot. The rounded pink sandstone headstone was the last in a row and stood out in the line, the only splash of color in an otherwise unremarkable plot. The moonlight was weak, unable to completely punch through the gauzy layer of cirrus clouds, like nature itself was drawing a privacy curtain over the cemetery. </p>
<p>It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances. </p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan stood just to the side of the plot, twisting the hem of her conservative green blouse until creases formed in the material. Her eyes, such a clear blue in my office, were washed to a pale gray in the wavering moonlight. It was like the color had drained out of her, right along with the vital spark mothers seemed to have around their children. Her only daughter was gone, buried six feet down, never to come home because one sick bastard had decided to get his kicks at Caleigh's expense. </p>
<p>"I've been going over the promotional materials," Mrs. Sloan began, her voice a choked whisper that was almost drowned by the chill November air. </p>
<p>A light dusting of snow had settled onto the ground, the trees, and the grave markers. The pink stone looked like a frosted confection, an unusually cheery sight in this gloomy boneyard. </p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan ought to have gone over the materials before the first raising, and I fought not to snap exactly that. It never ceased to amaze me how many of my clients signed on the dotted line without knowing what they were signing away their paychecks for. </p>
<p>"And?" </p>
<p>"You have total control over the...over Caleigh when she rises, right?" </p>
<p>She stumbled over the word "zombie." Most grieving families did. It was difficult to accept that the person who'd inhabited the body was gone, and what was left could be called from the grave by someone with the right talent. Harder still, when the zombie looked lifelike, as all of mine did. </p>
<p>There was no use lying to her. "Yes, Mrs. Sloan. No matter how lifelike she appears, she's still a zombie. I'll be in control the entire time. She doesn't go anywhere without my say-so." </p>
<p>"Could you order her not to cry this time?" </p>
<p>The question brought me up short, and I flashed her a quick, accusatory stare. The expression on my face must have been more hostile than usual, because Mrs. Sloan actually backed up a step, her beige kitten heels digging into the loose earth around Caleigh's grave. Her ghost-pale gaze darted around the cemetery, trying to lock onto something substantial. She wouldn't look me in the eye.</p>
<p>"Your daughter was raped, Mrs. Sloan, and you're dragging her from her grave to testify against the man who did it. Something she downed an entire bottle of painkillers to avoid. I've made my opinion on that pretty damn clear. So no, I'm not taking any more choices from Caleigh. If the tears bother you, maybe you shouldn't put her through this. <i>Again</i>." </p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan had the good grace to drop her gaze to her impractical footwear, a flush creeping up the back of her neck, clearly ashamed of herself. </p>
<p>Good. She deserved to be. The Sloans should have left well enough alone. </p>
<p>Aiden Williams deserved to rot in jail for what he'd done, but zombie testimony was unlikely to help Caleigh's case. Psychic ability, and animating in particular, weren't well understood by the general populous. Zombies were compelled to tell the truth, so Caleigh was incapable of perjuring herself, but a jury wouldn't see it that way. The law wasn't about what you knew, it was about what you could prove. If the defense could plant even a grain of doubt in the jury's mind, the Sloan case was sunk. </p>
<p>A drugged rooster hung limply from my left hand, feathers a soft, ticklish sensation against my skin. It's heart pulsed weakly against my palm. I turned back to the grave, stooping so I could retrieve the six-inch, enchanted steel athame that rested at the bottom of the duffel I used for raisings. The rooster jerked only once as the blade sank into the side of its neck. Blood ran in a scalding rush over my fingers as arterial blood spurted onto the freshly turned earth. Caleigh had been raised too many times in recent months for the grass to completely take root over the grave.</p>
<p>A circle walked in blood was never a neat thing. It took several revolutions to get the thick line necessary for a true circle of protection. Sometimes, on bad nights, the effort could leave me nauseous before the raising even began. Tonight, I felt sick for an entirely different reason. The pit in my stomach clenched tighter with every raising. I didn't want to see Caleigh's tears either. If I'd been less skilled, she couldn't come back with that particular ability. If she'd looked like the shambling, rotting corpses most animators produced, maybe the horror would be less visceral. </p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan stood outside the thick crimson line, watching as I touched the tip of the athame to the sandstone. Not too long ago, she couldn't look me in the eye. Now she couldn't tear her gaze away from the rich brown soil and stood almost unblinking as she waited for her daughter to come shooting out of the ground like an undead dandelion. </p>
<p>I was a necromancer, one of only two that I'd heard of. According to legend, that meant I had control over both the dead and the undead. I'd never had to learn how to draw corpses from the ground. I'd had to learn how <i>not</i> to. As I drew on that well of cold power, I felt some muscle inside me relax, easing the energy into the ground and toward the slim figure I could feel below. </p>
<p>"Caleigh Sloan," I said, voice ringing through the night, eerily resonant in the chill winter air. "With steel, I call you from your grave." </p>
<p>I slid the athame over the headstone, the blade rasping across the sandstone, tracing a bloody line across the top. </p>
<p>"With blood, I call you from your grave. With power, I call you from your grave. Hear me and obey. Rise from your grave and speak with the living."</p>
<p>The seeking tendrils of power found Caleigh's still body curled into her coffin. She'd gone back into her grave that way, legs tucked up to her chest, not seeming to care that the tulle skirts of the burgundy, off-the-shoulder formal gathered around her waist, flashing the undergarments provided for the funeral. Caleigh never got a chance to attend her junior prom, taking her life only a few days before the package containing her prom dress arrived in the mail. Her mother decked her out like a princess before laying her to rest, glittering tiara and all. </p>
<p>Caleigh refused to move from the position, even as she sank gratefully into the ground. And that was the way she'd remained for months. When the power touched her, brushing across her rotted skin like a cool caress, she shuddered. For the briefest of moments, her body struggled against the animating spark. In the three years I'd been an animator, I'd never met a corpse so determined to stay dead. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I wish I could leave you be."</p>
<p>Unfortunately, I'd burned through the limited store of goodwill I'd had with Bert. Over the last few months, I'd been cut, burned, shot at, and tossed around like a hacky sack. Animating had been beyond my ability for a few weeks and, despite all the positive media attention he'd gotten from my association with the celebrity Master of the City, he'd lost patience with me. </p>
<p>I'd been put on notice. Shape up or ship out. As he'd so gleefully pointed out, Animators Inc. wasn't a law firm, and I was an employee, not a partner. For the next six months, I'd be taking the cases on the docket and keeping my association with the police to a minimum. I'd been planning to pass on Caleigh's last two raisings, but now I was out of options. The only way out was through. Here was hoping a verdict would be handed out tonight. </p>
<p>Caleigh's body shuddered one final time before capitulating, the sunken hollows of her body filling in, the skin turning lush and smooth once more, the brittle mass of hair returning to its once lustrous shine. Her body pressed upward, outward, through the already pulverized coffin lid. The earth itself rejected the freshly made zombie, spilling her onto the loose layer of earth on top of her grave. </p>
<p>She perfectly matched her yearbook picture. Her ash brown hair hung loose and baby fine around her face, as carefully styled as when she'd gone into the casket. Her thick lashes were dusted with grave dirt, her skin caked with it. Her plump, rosy lips parted like she'd speak or scream, but she couldn't voice it. The dead couldn't speak for themselves. Not until the animator that called them made the trade. Death for life. She needed the blood sacrifice I held.</p>
<p>Caleigh crawled toward me, eyes still pale and cloudy. The eyes were usually the last thing to return, remaining vacant until blood returned that essential spark. I held the chicken out wordlessly, an offering. She snatched it, teeth gouging into the slit in the feathery neck like she'd tear the head off. </p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan turned away, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth to muffle a gag. She was doing well. At least she hadn't thrown up. Caleigh's estranged father had never attended the raisings, and her stepfather was too squeamish to accompany his wife. I'd seen cemetery guards lose their lunch at this point, so I'd try to give credit where it was due. </p>
<p>The film cleared, and awareness seemed to spill into the vacant eyes. They looked brighter and bluer as they filled with tears. Her shoulders hunched, and she dug bloodied fingers into the dirt as the first sob came. </p>
<p>"No," she hiccuped. "No. Please. Please, please, please put me back."</p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan's sniffle was audible, even over the wind. It was difficult not to slap her. This did no one any good. The cops had the rape kit on file,  and witnesses who saw Aiden leave with a nervous and protesting Caleigh. </p>
<p>She'd gone through enough in life. The rape kits, the whispers, the lies, the name-calling. Even making the accusation somehow painted a red 'A' on <i>your</i> chest, not his. I'd gotten a taste of what Caleigh had gone through when I was in high school. A quarterback that took "no" as an insult. A man who'd held me down under the bleachers and tried to take something that was only mine to give. I'd broken his nose and had been lucky enough to escape with only bruises to show for it. </p>
<p>Judith, in one of the only truly loving gesture she'd ever made toward me, hadn't allowed my father to sweep it under the rug. She'd stood just behind me, a stone-faced sentinel as I gave my report to the officer on duty. </p>
<p>I still remembered the sneering half-smile on his face. Buyer's remorse, he'd called it. You can't blame a red-blooded boy if a girl's being a tease. Don't ruin the boy's life over a case of sour grapes. </p>
<p>Clayton Snyder hadn't gotten even a slap on the wrist. I lived with the label whore the rest of the year. </p>
<p>But the ghosts of my past didn't come close to the pain swimming in Caleigh's eyes. </p>
<p>The damp earth slicked my slacks from knee to ankle as I knelt next to the sobbing teen. She recoiled when I tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. I let it drop limply to my side and settled for meeting her eyes. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry," I whispered. </p>
<p>It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, but it was all I had. That, and a gift.</p>
<p>"I brought you something else to wear," I said, and reached into my duffel, drawing out a pair of sequined jeans and a t-shirt. Caleigh looked like she'd match Andria's teenaged proportions. Lord knew what Judith thought when I asked her to send it. </p>
<p>Mrs. Sloan's scumbag lawyer had dragged Caleigh to court in her grave-clothes four times already. The original idea had been to shock the jury, showing them exactly what had become of Caleigh Sloan after Aiden was through with her. Fucking bastard. The jury had gotten the point by now. I wasn't letting her go through it again. Not without something to cling to. </p>
<p>Caleigh's eyes locked on the bedazzled jeans and some of the stiffness in her shoulders eased. The ghost of a smile curled her mouth before disappearing entirely. </p>
<p>"Thank you." </p>
<p>I didn't say you're welcome. Basic human dignity was the very least I could give her. Instead, I climbed to my feet and offered her a hand up. </p>
<p>"Let's go get this son of a bitch."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, I know I'm not through with Cirque Du Sang as of the posting of this chapter. I'm doing both Cirque Du Sang and this (hopefully) shorter novelette or novella-length piece for NaNoWriMo. I think I can balance both, and I will endeavor not to be too spoiler-y. I mean Anita and Jeanette survive what's coming in Cirque Du Sang, though I don't think that's too much of a spoiler. </p><p>This raising doesn't tie too much into the rest of the story but I wanted to show Anita doing some animating work. I feel I've been kinda skimping on that in the first two or three fics. </p><p>And yes, I am taking a bit of a jab at Hamilton in this chapter. In the Harlequin, Edward tells Anita about two assaults Peter has made on his girlfriends, both of which withdrew consent sometime after sex started. Which, in a reasonable world would mean that Peter stopped whatever the hell he was doing and respected their wishes. Um. No. Hamilton has Anit Blake participate in this exchange; </p><p>""It means he's had two girlfriends in the last year. The first one was perfect. She was quiet, respectful, pretty. They were sweet together."</p><p>"What happened?" I asked.</p><p>"Her parents called one night and asked what kind of monster our son was, that he'd hurt their daughter."</p><p>"Hurt her how?"</p><p>"The usual. She was a virgin and they didn't do enough foreplay."</p><p>"It happens," I said.</p><p>"But the girl claimed that when she told him it hurt, he didn't stop."</p><p>"Sounds like buyer's remorse to me, Edward."</p><p> </p><p>She withdrew consent and he didn't stop. That's rape. So yeah, I find it really gross and I'm calling it out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “One fucking year,” I hissed into the phone. “After all that, he only gets a year in prison?” </p>
<p>I was in danger of crushing my cell phone. The increased strength I inherited as a Human Servant was an asset most of the time. Executing warrants had become easier. I ran faster, hit harder, and was all but immune to vampire mind games. At times like these, though, I was reminded why it wasn’t always a blessing. It would not be the first cell phone case I’d cracked in a fit of pique. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Anita.” </p>
<p>The rich, sonorous sound of Richard’s voice on the other end of the line was immensely comforting, like sipping mint tea to soothe a stomach ache. Even if the words were trite, the platitude useless. Just hearing his voice made me lean back into the padded seat of my Jeep. The vise-like grip I’d had on the wheel relaxed, and the violent urge to rear-end the SUV in front of me lessened. I’d content myself with laying on the horn the next time a car cut me off. </p>
<p>Paper rustled on the other end of the line and I smiled in spite of myself. The dashboard clock informed me it was a quarter to midnight. Richard was still grading papers.</p>
<p>The raising and proceedings had concluded just before ten, and then it had just been a matter of laying Caleigh to rest. It was Mrs. Sloan who sobbed when Caleigh sank gratefully into her grave one last time. Part of me wondered if the trial had really been about seeking justice for what had been done to Caleigh, or just a mother’s way of trying to hold onto her daughter just a little longer. Maybe that had been worth the animating costs, the legal fees, and her daughter’s unhappiness. Some people never learned to let go. </p>
<p>I blew out a breath. “Don’t apologize, Richard. It’s not your fault.” </p>
<p>“But you’re still upset. I wish I could change that.” </p>
<p>“Have popcorn and a Mel Brooks film on standby. If I can scrape a night off this week, I’d love to spend an evening on the couch. I’d honestly kill for things to be simple. Is that too much to ask for, just this once?”</p>
<p>I knew, deep down, that ‘simple’ just wasn’t in the cards for me. I’d made that decision three years ago when I’d started hunting monsters. A group of vampires had crashed my wedding venue and slaughtered the guests. My fiance had been killed, my world irrevocably altered for the worse. So I hunted the undead, the rogue therianthropes, and anything else that went bump in the night. I used my hard-won expertise to save lives, and I was damn good at it.</p>
<p>After three years, and more than a hundred kills, I’d earned myself a nickname among the vampires—the Executioner. Strange to think I was the monster under the bed, the boogeyman that made little vampires behave. Watch out, or the Executioner will get you. I supposed I could see why they thought of me as a monster but, to me, vampire hunting was just a job. Specialized preternatural policing that only a select few had the stomach and skill set for. </p>
<p><i>Bad vamps, bad vamps, whatcha gonna do when I come for you?</i> </p>
<p>I knew that an idyllic life with two point five kids, a white picket fence, and a miniature schnauzer just wasn’t happening. Maybe I could afford the dog. Just maybe. I’d made too many enemies to have anything else. I wouldn’t have even considered dating again if I hadn’t known Richard could take care of himself.</p>
<p>By day Richard was a middle school science teacher. Most of the time he wore hideously tacky sweater vests and khaki slacks in an effort not to be distracting. It was effort wasted. Nothing could hide the fact that Richard was six feet and change, well-muscled, and classically handsome. Even his shoulder-length hair couldn’t detract from the sculpted beauty of his face. If anything, it only served as a frame to emphasize it. I couldn’t blame his students for being smitten, though I wondered how many would run screaming if they knew what he was hiding.</p>
<p>Richard was also a werewolf, and one of the contenders to be the Ulfric,  the wolf king, of his pack. Only his scruples kept him from seizing power and running the pack his own way. Richard was damn near pacifistic, which was one of the many reasons I’d asked that we take things slow. I wasn’t sure pacifism was compatible with my lifestyle. I wasn’t sure that <i>he</i> was compatible with my lifestyle. </p>
<p>It was a bit of a sore spot between us and one of the few fights we’d had since beginning to date in October. Richard had a timetable. An unreasonably fast-moving schedule that involved meeting his family in just a few short weeks for Thanksgiving dinner. Something I’d have been fine with... after several <i>months</i> of dating. Curtis hadn’t introduced me to his family until we’d gotten engaged, probably anticipating his mother’s poor reaction to my Mexican heritage. </p>
<p>It seemed too fast, but what did I know? I’d had precisely one long-term relationship, and the man I loved had to hide me away like some dark secret to keep his mother from going postal. Maybe this was what couples did when their families weren’t full of racist assholes. </p>
<p>“Anita?” </p>
<p>Richard’s voice shook me out of my moody preoccupation. The light flicked to green, and I took the left turn that would lead me to the offices of Animators Inc. </p>
<p>“Sorry for spacing off,” I mumbled. “Ignore me, Richard, I’ve got a lot on my mind.” </p>
<p>“I said, consider the popcorn ready and <i>The Producers</i> is already in the DVD player when you can find the time to swing by. You deserve a break.” </p>
<p>“Damn skippy.” </p>
<p>I felt Richard hesitate on the other end of the line. Genuine, palpable reluctance. He really didn’t like whatever he was about to say. That usually meant it had something to do with the Master of the City, the woman Richard considered his romantic rival. </p>
<p>Don’t ask me how he figured that. Jeanette Davenay was happily fucking three or four women I knew about, and probably several men I didn’t. The romantic overtures she’d made toward me had all but ceased, and we hadn’t seen each other since Mr. Oliver’s defeat. </p>
<p>“Just spit it out, Richard. What does she want?”</p>
<p>He chuckled weakly. “How do you always know it’s about her?” </p>
<p>“Because you act like you’re about to choke on your own tongue, Richard. Honestly, why are you so defensive where she’s concerned? We’re not dating. She only tolerates me because I shore up her power base. I don’t even think she likes me.”</p>
<p>It was a lie. I knew damn well that what began as a political move had become deeply personal in the years she’d begun stalking me. Somewhere along the line, she’d gotten it into her head that she loved me. But the proof was in what you did, not what you said. If she could move on this quickly, it hadn’t been love. </p>
<p>I wasn’t sure what she felt for me now. Spite? Yeah, it felt like spite. Why else would she fuck Meng Die, of all people? She was at least one of the women in Jeanette’s bed. Yasmeen and her human servant Marguerite were ladies two and three, with one of the singers at Paramour, Gretchen, as the fourth. It was like she was trying to shove the giant lesbian orgy in my face every chance she got. </p>
<p>It shouldn’t matter who she fucked, so why did it hurt so goddamn much when I caught snippets in dreams?</p>
<p>Richard’s chuckle turned a touch bitter. Bitter and unappealing, like bad coffee, as if he should have gagged on the sound.</p>
<p>“You don’t see it, Anita. The way she looks at you, it’s... It’s not about power. She wants you.” </p>
<p>“I like men, Richard. You won’t catch me leaping into her bed anytime soon.” </p>
<p>His grunt was noncommittal, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve kissed her.” </p>
<p>“It’s political, Richard. It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t love Jeanette.” </p>
<p>I didn’t. </p>
<p>No, my nose was <i>not</i> growing, thank you very much. </p>
<p>He sighed, and the fresh rustling of his papers sounded like the crackle of static on the other line. </p>
<p>“But you don’t love me either.” </p>
<p>The Jeep slowed to a crawl as I reached the turnoff for Animators Inc. I was too damn tired for this level of insecurity. I’d already supported a distraught mother, and a mentally broken zombie through one of the most grueling trials I’d ever witnessed, and the smirking little twerp probably wouldn’t spend the entire year in jail. With exemplary behavior, he’d probably secure an early release. </p>
<p>“What do you want me to say to that, Richard? Sorry? It’s only been a few weeks. I don’t think <i>anyone</i> loves their significant other that quickly. Not unless they built on a foundation of friendship. The first time we met, you laid on top of me naked. If you want to try that again, and we can talk. But I won’t tell you I love you. Not until I mean it.” </p>
<p>That successfully shut him up. Any time sex was mentioned, he threw up the white flag of surrender.</p>
<p>“I’m supposed to tell you to meet Jeanette at Iniquity. She has some official documentation you need to sign. She says you must be deleting her emails. I’m going to get back to grading these papers. Call me when you know your schedule, okay?” </p>
<p>I agreed, slotting my Jeep into a reserved parking spot near the front of Animators Inc, a sick, squirming feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Richard was the one being difficult, so why did I feel the urge to apologize? </p>
<p>“Have a good night, Richard.” </p>
<p>“Goodbye, Anita.” </p>
<p>He hung up, and I set the phone aside, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, breathing hard until I could get a handle on myself. Jeanette and Richard both acted like I was a monster for being involved with the other. Fuck them both. </p>
<p>I shrugged off my seatbelt and stepped out of the car. I had paperwork to fill out and then I could go home.</p>
<p>The building that housed our firm had once been a law office, but a hefty sum had given us the run of the building and permission from the owner to remodel. From the front, it looked like any standard office building. A few stories tall, built from brick, with a solid institutional air to it and a sign outside that read, ‘Animators Incorporated’ in big gold-plated letters.</p>
<p>The usual crowd of animal rights activists that ringed the set of double doors was mysteriously absent, but my way toward freedom was still impeded. My boss, Bert Vaughn, was reclining next to the door, deep in conversation with another man. Bert was one of the tallest men I’d ever met, closer to seven feet than six, and relished using that height to bully clients and employees alike into submission with his superior bulk. </p>
<p>The man next to him was shorter than the American average, 5’8" flat-footed and around 5’9" in boots or designer shoes. He was built lean, so one might underestimate the muscle tone that lay beneath the expensive suit. He was blond, blue-eyed. Generically handsome. His lips were a little too thin for my taste, and the pleasant smile he flashed me didn’t reach his eyes, though it twitched a little when I balked a few feet away from the pair. </p>
<p>Edward was in St. Louis, operating under one of his many identities, which could only mean one thing. I was about to repay the favor I owed his organization. </p>
<p>Forget simple. Life just wasn’t fucking <i>fair</i>. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So this is where the magic happens,” Edward mused, settling into the padded chair across from my desk, taking everything in with a critical eye. </p>
<p>There wasn’t a lot to stare at. The walls were an inoffensive powder blue, the carpet a steely gray polyester blend. The baseboards were an off-white stripe, and one of the few bright spots in the room. A diplomatic soul would have called it Spartan, but the truth was, I had a limited store of fucks to give, and I ranked decor dead last on the list of things I worried about. </p>
<p>I had a penguin calendar on one wall; the November spread open to a photo of an Emperor Penguin waddling across the snow. A snow globe Grandma Blake gifted me rested on the desk near the company laptop and a mug that read, “coffee doesn’t ask stupid questions.” </p>
<p>It was one of the milder mugs I’d brought in after Bert mandated festive clothing and personalized mugs. Hey, at least I hadn’t brought in my favorite, “Friday is my second favorite F word.”</p>
<p>“Most of the magic happens in cemeteries, actually, but that’s not what you came here to discuss, is it Edward?”</p>
<p>“Bobby,” he chided, though the wolfish grin he wore softened the rebuke. He was getting a kick out of watching me squirm. “You ought to use the alias now, so you’re used it when the time comes.” </p>
<p>“When the time comes for what?” </p>
<p>I’d been dreading the day Edward returned to cash in his favor. I just hadn’t expected the day to come only weeks after I’d made the promise.</p>
<p>Last month a very old, very powerful vampire and his retinue had invaded St. Louis. State and local authorities had been forced to get involved, but we still wouldn’t have won the day without Edward. Only his organization had the personnel and equipment we’d needed to deal with the force that had been brought against us. </p>
<p>His price? Take a bite out of the forbidden fruit and see how it tastes. </p>
<p>For as long as I’d known him, Edward had been an agent of a shady government body. Though I now had some idea of what they did, I still didn’t know which government it answered to. That, in large part, was why I’d told Edward no for the last three years, despite all his incentives. The dollar amount Van Cleef and his people could throw at me would make the check Bert offered look like pocket change, but I didn’t want the money. They’d told me that I could help eradicate monsters that made vampires and therianthropes look like playful puppies. But even that hadn’t swayed me, in the end. </p>
<p>They operated in cells, and I knew next to nothing about the central authority. I didn’t know them, what drove them, and what they’d ask of me. So I turned it down. I’d intended to say no until the end of time. Then Mr. Oliver had tried to take over St. Louis. I had to save my town, my people. </p>
<p>I had to save Jeanette. I’d compromised for her, and this was how she’d repaid me.</p>
<p>I clutched at my stomach, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from muttering obscenities. I didn’t want to explain it to Edward. He wouldn’t understand, though, in true sociopathic fashion, he might offer me comfort by issuing Jeanette a death threat. I had to admit that the thought made me smile, just a little. Death had a soft spot for me, and he’d give me what little he had to offer. I didn’t want her dead but spooked suited me just fine. </p>
<p>Petty, who me?</p>
<p>Edward reached into the Attaché case at his feet, rummaging for a few seconds before he found what he was looking for. He produced a manilla folder and laid it on the desk in front of me before stooping to retrieve another.</p>
<p> By the time he was through, I had two stacks, with a forest’s worth of paper bulging out the sides of each. They were emblazoned with an official police seal, the county name, and case file number. Some of the night’s tension eased out of my shoulders. They were police case files, not unlike the ones I’d examined with RIPIT over the years. </p>
<p>“Kinford County?” I asked, lifting the first folder from the pile. </p>
<p>“Kinford County, Minnesota. A chilly little quarter near Lake Superior. We’ll be visiting Lockridge specifically, though it’s too small to have its own police department. It’s subject to lake effect snowfall on occasion, though it’s not as bad as, say, Duluth.  Still, we’d like to get in and out of there as quickly as possible. There are some people in my crew that I wouldn’t want to cuddle with during a snowstorm, if you catch my drift.” </p>
<p>I glanced down at the pile doubtfully. It was a lot of material for a snowy town in the sticks. How on earth had someone in Lockridge known to contact Edward, or had the means to hire him? </p>
<p>“Are you going to at least tell me what I’m looking for?” </p>
<p>He just smiled and made a ‘carry on’ motion with one hand. I glowered at him for a moment, his patronizing silence reminding me unpleasantly of Dolph. He, too, liked to let me go in blind. It made for unbiased observation. It also made for high octane nightmare fuel, when you didn’t have time to brace yourself for what was coming. </p>
<p>Best to get it done quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. I flipped the folder open and peered at the contents. </p>
<p>The first photo was utterly innocuous. The photographer had been standing on a weathered footpath, shooting up and at an angle to capture a snapshot of the large cabin at the top of the hill. Snow dusted the cabin’s slanted roof but hadn’t fallen in earnest yet. The ground was thick with matted leaves and the bare, barbed limbs of the honey locust trees were gray smudges where they met the white-blue of a winter sky. </p>
<p>It was bleak. Stark, exposed, bare, desolate. Any of those would have been good in a small blurb off to the side of the photo. But horrifying didn’t fit. Not yet. I was betting whatever I saw inside the cabin would change my mind.</p>
<p>I flipped to the next shot and... Well, I had to squint to make out exactly what I was staring at. At first, the shape looked like an assortment of large rocks covered in some sort of growth. It was shy of six feet in length. Most of the shape was covered in the slick, oily growth. I opened my mouth to ask exactly what I was looking at. Then I saw it. Two gaping holes that should have contained eyes, and a row of teeth visible in the open mouth.</p>
<p> Oh, God. this was a <i>person</i>. </p>
<p>With the gaping mouth and eyes as a guide, I could finally make out the head, with a coiled braid of dark hair trailing off what was left of the skull. Most of it had been engulfed in the sticky white substance. I took in the curled position of the body, the tortured splay of the fingers. Most of all, I stared at the growth on the body. It looked very familiar, though I couldn’t place why. </p>
<p>“Adipocere,” I said finally. </p>
<p>Edward raised a brow at me. I couldn’t tell if this was news to him, or if he was allowing me to repeat things he already knew. Would the latter make me feel better? Maybe if I was a dud, he’d leave me be. But I doubted it.</p>
<p>“Adipocere,” I repeated. “Corpse wax. It’s created by anaerobic bacterial hydrolysis in the fatty tissues. It’s not common, but it happens. The process is called saponification, and it results in the waxy substance you see on the corpse. Sorry to break it to you, Edward, but this isn’t a monster’s doing. It’s just good ol’ human decomposition.”  </p>
<p>Edward didn’t relax into the chair, blink, or even smile. The only real change was that the icy blue stare went from searching to speculative. </p>
<p>“I showed your boss, you know. He couldn’t say what it was.” </p>
<p>“Bert is a businessman, not a true animator. He wouldn’t know a mummy’s ass from its elbow.”</p>
<p>“Your mentor didn’t know what it was either,” Edward said, lips curling into a small smile. “He didn’t think most people at the firm would. They’re animators, not morticians. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to identify it, let alone as quickly as you did. How’d you know?” </p>
<p>Because I’d studied decomposition in the weeks and months after my mother’s funeral. No one liked to talk about death, and adults brushed me off when I asked what happened to mommy under the ground. Everyone except, of course, Grandma Blake. She hadn’t been comfortable, but she hadn’t forbidden me from doing my research either. After I finished my homework, I’d read textbooks or watched television. Forensic shows, documentaries about ancient and modern embalming practices, true crime. Whatever I could stuff into the hour and a half before bed. </p>
<p>I’d even taken walks to visit the body of a doe who’d been struck by a truck up the road from Grandma’s house. I’d watched it go from a beautiful animal to nothing but bones in short order. I’d taken all that practical knowledge and tried to wrap my head around death. It hadn’t helped me feel better. If anything, the nightmares had grown worse. </p>
<p>I hadn’t thought anything could frighten me more than the image of my mother’s face sinking in on itself, her body bloating, blackening, and rotting away. Then I’d begun having dreams about <i>her</i>. The Mother of All Darkness. The fount of all vampires. Perhaps the fount of all evil itself.</p>
<p>Edward was a sociopath, so he had probably done worse when he was a kid. Still, I’d never admitted what I’d done aloud, even to friends. I hadn’t confessed the obsession, even to my own father.  Only Grandma Blake knew. </p>
<p>So I  chewed on my lip and settled for a half-truth. </p>
<p>“You know that kid in the small town with strange hobbies and interests? The one everyone thinks will turn into a serial killer? That was me.” </p>
<p>Edward chuckled, and some of the humor slid into his eyes, thawing the ice. Usually, Edward reserved good humor for his alternate identities, but I scored a few now and then.</p>
<p>“Well, they’re not wrong. You have how many official kills now?” </p>
<p>“After the debacle with Mr. Oliver, I really don’t know. I was at a hundred and forty-three before. Want to round it off and call it a nice, even hundred and fifty?” </p>
<p>“It’s more than that.” </p>
<p>I could feel a tension headache building. I so didn’t have time for this cloak and dagger shit. </p>
<p>“Do you have a point, Edward? The medical examiner must have given you some idea of what you’re dealing with. Why are you bringing this to Bert? To me?” </p>
<p>Edward sobered and sat up a little straighter, propping his elbows on his knees. It was a serious as I’d ever seen him. A shadow of something passed over his face. Anxiety? What could make Death anxious? </p>
<p>“Yes, the ME confirmed it was adipocere. The problem is, these bodies were found in the cabin. A very dry, very oxygenated environment. Saponification should have been damn near impossible. More than that, he said at minimum the bodies should have taken months, if not years to resemble what you’re seeing in that photo. It’d be less somewhere tropical, maybe, but Minnesota isn’t exactly palm trees and sandy beaches, is it?”</p>
<p>Damn it. There was something supernatural going on, but hell if I knew what.</p>
<p>“How long did it take?” </p>
<p> “Forty-eight hours, according to the liver temperature, though Dr. Merrill’s doesn’t know if he can say anything for sure, under the circumstances.” Edward shrugged. “We’re extrapolating. A wildlife photographer was passing through the area and found the door open, and the bodies...like that.” </p>
<p>“How many bodies?” I asked. </p>
<p>“Thirty were found in the cabin, though more could turn up, Soap mummy supreme was a popular gal.” </p>
<p>I glanced down at the photo in my hands, skimming the profile. “Someone I ought to know?” </p>
<p>Edward nodded, and dug into one of the inner pockets of his suit jacket, producing another glossy photo, this time an immediately recognizable headshot. The woman had a round face and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her nose was a little crooked, broken during a protest years before. Her lips were thin, pursed in distaste as she stared at the camera. </p>
<p>“Oh fuck,” I muttered. <i>Now</i> I understood why Edward was on this case. </p>
<p>Edward nodded. “Summer Fox. Eco-terrorist and all-around a nasty piece of work. A Fed I know called this in just as soon as she was identified. We need an animator who can raise them, Anita. We have no fucking clue what we’re dealing with. If this is the result of a bioagent that got out of hand, it could kill hundreds, if not thousands. We need to know if she's hidden anything in Lockridge. You’re the only animator I know that’s also a Human Servant. You’re immune to poisons now, right?” </p>
<p>I flicked my gaze down to the page, then back up to Edward. “I’m not sure if I’m immune to <i>this</i>.“</p>
<p>“I know, and I’m sorry, but we have to risk it. I’m bringing in the few vampires and wereanimals we have for this case. You’re the only human life I’m willing to risk for this.” </p>
<p>“Except your own,” I pointed out. “And you’re here, possibly contaminating others. You could have called me.” </p>
<p>I wanted to be angry. He’d exposed Bert and Manny to...whatever this was. The anger didn’t come, though. Mostly, I felt cold. Cold down to my core, because this was so beyond my paygrade. Because if I failed, the consequences were so fucking grim I didn’t want to even consider them.</p>
<p>“The likelihood anything awful will happen is low. I’ve waited over a week to make sure I didn’t spontaneously mummify. I wasn’t sure you’d come if I called, and I knew you’d slaughter anyone I sent to grab you. Well, besides Bellona. But the less you interact with her, the better.” </p>
<p>If things hadn’t been so damn grim, I’d have smiled. I couldn’t though. Not now. </p>
<p>He’d crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at my mug. He looked almost petulant.</p>
<p> “I’m not going to jump ship, Edward. I know I’m your protegee, not hers.” </p>
<p>“Damn right.” </p>
<p>I sighed and pushed the photos back into the folders. I didn’t have time to review all of them if I wanted to pack and see to the business with Jeanette. </p>
<p>“I can’t leave tonight, Edward. I need to pack and make some preparations.”</p>
<p>“Time is of the essence, Anita. I can’t exactly schedule things around your love life. I need you at Lambert International by five, at the very latest.” </p>
<p>“Fine,” I snapped. “And I’m not dating the Master of the City, so fuck you very much.” </p>
<p>Edward stood, gathering his things back into the case, smirking the whole time. Insufferable bastard. He paused at the door and tossed his parting shot over his shoulder. </p>
<p>“Give Jeanette a kiss from me, Anita.” </p>
<p>The mug I lobbed at him hit the closed door, shattering into a dozen ceramic pieces, almost drowning the sound of his laughter. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes working as an animator and one of only a handful of state-licensed executioners forced me to travel. When serving difficult warrants or performing large raisings, I had to bring in help in the form of another executioner or animator. And for some baffling reason, men I traveled with felt the need to compliment me for packing light. </p>
<p>Usually, it’d be followed up by a nervous laugh, a weak joke, and a silent demand in their eyes that I play along. I’d never gone off on anyone for it. Start the fight and you’re the bitch. They get to write you off as a hysterical woman, overreacting as always. Hell, they might bring you up on review by the State and have your license revoked for misconduct.</p>
<p>I tended to give them one, rather contemptuous look and let them stew in the knowledge they’d been a sexist asshole. It’d worked well for me so far.</p>
<p>Tonight? I’d constructed the leaning tower of luggage in the back of my Jeep. Two rollaboard suitcases for my clothing, professional and casual respectively. Or, as Ronnie had put it, the bloodied and not-bloodied sections of my wardrobe. Three guesses which pile was bigger.</p>
<p>I had enough firepower in the remaining three bags to arm a small platoon, and just enough on my person to make any sane bouncer sit up and take notice. Like Buzz was doing now. </p>
<p>Buzz was ex-military, recruited into the ranks of the St. Louis kiss thirty years ago after being dishonorably discharged from the United States Army. I hadn’t asked why, and he’d never offered an explanation. I think we were both better off that way.</p>
<p>He had a dark crew cut and blue-gray eyes that were almost too small for his broad face. He wasn’t ugly, by any stretch, just not my type. I did smile when his hand flew reflexively toward the Glock holstered on one hip. </p>
<p>His eyes slid over me, giving me a cautious once over, taking in the metal spikes shoved into my bun that could double as stakes in a punch. He eyed Browning in its holster and the wrist sheaths that peeked out from the sleeves of the festive turtleneck with an embroidered turkey that seemed to have nested between my breasts. I’d bought it under duress after the holiday clothing mandate. It was holding up a sign that read, “Eat pizza.” </p>
<p>Again, Bert should have been grateful I hadn’t been wearing the shirt my kid brother, Josh, had sent in response to the mandate. The plucked turkey clutched at itself in apparent embarrassment and the text read; “You only like me for my breasts.” </p>
<p>Once upon a time, Buzz had looked only to leer. He saw what most people saw. A petite, girl-next-door pretty young woman who’d looked relatively harmless at first glance. He’d underestimated me, and it had almost gotten him shot. He was still underestimating me, really. There were more weapons that Buzz hadn’t spied, but the fact he was looking at all meant I’d moved up from a piece of ass to a legitimate threat. Good to know.</p>
<p>“Anita,” he said, tone very level. Very careful. Buzz was still scared of me. I wasn’t aiming to intimidate, honest.</p>
<p>“Buzz,” I acknowledged, sidestepping the line. “No holy item checks, please, I don’t have time for it.” </p>
<p>He fidgeted, wriggling uncomfortably against the section of wall he’d been told to hold up. Once more, his hand flinched toward his sidearm like he thought he’d need it. What had made him so jumpy?</p>
<p>“I have to insist,” he said, setting his jaw firmly. “Ms. Davenay says you’re only permitted the Browning and the crucifix. I have to confiscate anything else.” </p>
<p>“<i>Permitted</i>?” I let him hear, in that one word, the festering anger and resentment I’d been dying to lob at Jeanette for weeks. </p>
<p>Buzz lifted his large, calloused hands as though he’d push me away. He tried to take a step back but met only the brick wall behind him. He’d been trying to retreat at speed, and the resulting crack sounded painful. Buzz grimaced and flashed fangs. A few of the bridesmaids drew in sharp breaths, a redhead who looked like she’d already had a drink or two burst into a hysterical fit of giggles, and the bride-to-be was carefully looking at anything else. She was flushed, and probably a little tipsy as well. Her blonde hair was half out of its updo. I had to wonder if this was the first strip joint they’d visited. </p>
<p>Only a slim woman with sandy blonde hair and a “Maid of Honor” sash watched the confrontation with anything but interest. Her thin lips pursed into a line as she watched our little melodrama play out and let her breath out in a huff when I appeared to be gaining ground.</p>
<p>“Jackie, don’t,” the bride warned as her friend ducked out of line and began stalking toward us, wobbling a little on a pair of stiletto heels. </p>
<p>“No,” Jackie said, waving irritably at the bride. </p>
<p>She had a high, baby-like lilt to her tone, which probably earned her a pass from most folks. Without the heels, she was probably my height, and she was baby-faced. People let things slide when you were just so gosh-darn cute. She still looked cute, even as she bore down on us, though it was slipping as her face contorted into the haughty, “I want to see the manager” expression. </p>
<p>The heels boosted her just enough to allow her to tower over me. She jabbed a finger into my face. I considered seizing the finger and snapping it to the side in one fiery burst of uncontrolled anger. It took several breaths to convince myself it was a bad idea. Assault was a disproportionate response unless she escalated things. Besides, she wasn’t the one who’d pissed me off. Not really. </p>
<p>“We have been waiting for ten minutes,” Jackie hissed. “And we have a reservation. You don’t get to cut in line.” </p>
<p>I considered telling her that ten minutes was actually a <i>short</i> wait time. The club specialized in vampire and therian acts. Only a few other places in the country could say the same. Scarcity creates demand, making Iniquity one of the most sought after attractions in town. The bride must have paid a premium to get in to see the prime acts. I kept my mouth shut, not sure I could keep myself from shouting that she was being an ungrateful bitch. Some people just had to have the limelight, even when the party wasn’t about them. </p>
<p>Jackie shuffled back a step when I gave her a tight smile. I didn’t smile much, and when I did, it was usually unpleasant and at someone else’s expense. I didn’t know what people saw in my face, but it tended to scare them. Like Buzz, she flinched when she saw the Browning in its holster. I plucked a pair of cards from their pouch on my belt and flashed the consultancy badge and executioner’s license just quickly enough to see the logos, but not read the print. </p>
<p>Technically, what I’d done was illegal. Impersonating a police officer in truth or by omission was a felony. Ask me if I gave a damn. </p>
<p>“I have had a very bad day, Jackie,” I said, still smiling. “And I have a bone to pick with a vampire inside this club. Now walk quietly back to the line and wait, or you and I will have a problem.” </p>
<p>Jackie’s backpedal was so fast it should have been accompanied by the words “meep, meep.” I had to admit, part of me was disappointed. I was still spoiling for a fight. Thankfully, there was still a vampire in between me and my goal. </p>
<p>“That goes for you too, Buzz. Step aside or we’ll have to settle this the old-fashioned way.”</p>
<p>He actually looked pained. “I need this job, Ms. Blake. Do you know how fucking hard it is to keep a job outside of the St. Louis Kiss’ businesses with a record like mine? It’s this or Malcolm’s church, and I don’t go in for that kumbaya crap.” </p>
<p>Again, I had to wonder what Buzz had done to not only get himself thrown out of the Army but to all but blacklist himself even thirty years later. I probably didn’t want to know. </p>
<p>I sighed, upholstered the Browning out of sight of the crowd, and seized him by the arm. The second he was pressed into my side, I jammed the Browning into his ribs. He went very still against me.</p>
<p>“Play a nice little hostage, and it’ll be my ass, not yours. Can you do that, Buzz?” </p>
<p>He nodded and didn’t have trouble summoning the proper amount of fear. Goodie. </p>
<p>The air changed as we stepped into the room, becoming muggier, sweeter, caressed by just a hint of incense or perfume. Emotion charged the air, perceptible to even my dull human senses. Fear, anticipation, and lust all mixed together into a bouquet that was sure to entice every single vampire and therian in the place. There’d be a lot of them tonight, and if I caught any of them rolling audience members, the threat I posed would no longer remain idle. </p>
<p>The lights were low, all attention focused on the stage as Mo Cameron introduced a new act. He was around 5'8", alabaster pale, and wearing a velvet suit that set of his deep blue eyes. Lightly curling black hair had been swept into a tail at the base of his neck. But for the aura, he could have been Jeanette’s fraternal twin. </p>
<p>Mo wasn’t even a century old. He’d been a bootlegger for the Chicago outfit and had gotten himself publicly tortured and executed by Capone himself. Mo had slept with someone he shouldn’t have and pissed off his big, bad criminal bosses. Every one of his joints had been blown all to hell and finally, gut-shot, he’d been left to bleed to death. Jeanette had brought him over as a vampire, rather than let him pass painfully on.</p>
<p>I wondered briefly if she was fucking him too, then quashed the thought. I’d given up my right to care. Besides, last I’d known, Mo was dating a wereleopard named Cherry. </p>
<p>Buzz wound his way through the crowd and toward the back office. To outsiders, it probably looked cute. The big, burly man leading a little thing like me on his arm. I wondered what they thought when he all but sprinted for the entrance after knocking on the office door.</p>
<p>I still had the Browning naked in my hand when Jeanette came to the door. She was exquisite, as always. She’d donned a simple black mini-dress with a white Peter Pan collar. Her hair was arranged in a messy bun that brushed the nape of her slender, swan-like neck. She was taller than me by head or two. No shorter than five-eight. Her long, shapely legs were on display, and I couldn’t help but eye the lacy black stockings and that nice, creamy line of thigh between the end of her stockings and the start of the skirt. </p>
<p>She glanced at the Browning, then back at me, and sighed. “Is Buzz hurt?” </p>
<p>“A little bruised, but he’ll live,” I lied. “Mind telling me what’s so fucking important that you’ve issued a summons, <i>Master</i>? I’ve only got a few hours before I need to get on a plane and consult on a case.”</p>
<p>Jeanette didn’t even give me the satisfaction of looking wounded. She just seemed...resigned. Maybe a little tired. Physically, she’d always look like a woman in her prime, but at moments like these, I could feel the weight of centuries on her shoulders. </p>
<p>“Then this is fortunate timing indeed. Come in. I have some papers for you to sign.” </p>
<p>I squinted at her suspiciously. “What sort of papers?” </p>
<p>Jeanette rolled her eyes heavenward, a hint of exasperation finally seeping through. “If you insist on being bellicose, could you at least do so in the privacy of my office? You’ve no doubt startled several customers with the firearm, and I’d like to keep complaints to a minimum.” </p>
<p>As much as I’d like to argue, she was right. Some well-meaning patron was going to call the police at this rate, and then I’d be up to my neck in it. So I stepped into the office and shut the door as Jeanette settled herself behind the ebony executive desk. </p>
<p>I’d never been inside the offices at Iniquity and couldn’t help a discreet look around the place. The room wasn’t much larger than my office at Animators Inc. though an observer could learn more about Jeanette from the decor than they could ever have gleaned about me. The room was a study in contrasts. Solid white walls on three sides of the room, with a checkerboard pattern on the fourth. The plush red carpet gave easily under my Nikes. Every knick-knack on the desk or shelves behind Jeanette was unique, hand-crafted, and expensive. </p>
<p>Bold but sophisticated. Eye-catching without being gaudy. Classic without being trite. Yes, it was very Jeanette. </p>
<p>I sat across from her in one of the black Sophia chairs that faced the desk and examined the stack of papers she pushed toward me. </p>
<p>“A visa application?” I asked, raising my eyes to meet hers with a frown. “You know I’m a U.S. citizen, right?” </p>
<p>“I’m familiar with most of your biographical information. This application has to be signed so I can present you with a work visa.” </p>
<p>“I’m officially lost. What the hell are you talking about?” </p>
<p>Jeanette sighed and steepled her fingers. “You know that formalities must be observed when a master vampire enters another’s territory.”</p>
<p>I nodded, still not following. “You were within your rights by Council law to kill Mr. Oliver and his people for the slight.”</p>
<p>“The same applies to human servants and animal groups under the control of a Master. When we were fewer, it was less of a problem. Now that our population as boomed with newer and more progressive vampires, we’ve been forced to work out a system. Years ago, the Master of Springfield had Gage Sheppard, a werehyena from another city, killed for entering his territory without proper deference and gifts. The Cackle he belonged to promptly killed the Springfield Kiss. It highlighted a problem that had been brewing for some time.” </p>
<p>I thought I finally understood. </p>
<p>“Modern American vampires don’t want to lounge around or play gofer for the Master vamps in their city. Most of them don’t even blood-oath to the Masters anymore. So you had to figure out a way to keep Joe Blow vampire from being killed for leaving the city.” </p>
<p>“Précisément.” </p>
<p>“Why not do this earlier?” </p>
<p>“With only two marks, you weren’t a true human servant. There was every chance you could break free of me. Now you have three marks.” </p>
<p>“And everyone’s just waiting for the day when I take the fourth,” I muttered. </p>
<p>She scrubbed at her face with her hands. “You made the choice, ma petite, I did not force it on you. There is no need to sound bitter.” </p>
<p>I snorted. “Oh, <i>I’m</i> bitter? You can’t stand that I chose Richard. You rub your escapades in my face every chance you get.” </p>
<p>Jeanette’s face was empty. If she weren’t blinking or breathing, I could have mistaken her for a life-sized doll. </p>
<p>“Is that what you think I’m doing?” she said, voice quiet. There was something in the handful of words, an emotion I couldn’t name. Or maybe that I didn’t <i>want</i> to name. </p>
<p>“Isn’t it?” </p>
<p>She gave me a long look, then tore her gaze away, opening a desk drawer, producing a thick, laminated card. </p>
<p>“Keep it on your person at all times. If a Master vampire stops you, present this. It has my information, and I will vouch for you.” </p>
<p>I took the damn card and signed on the dotted lines. All fifty-eight of them. By the time I was through, my hand was cramping, the knotted muscles screaming for mercy. When I handed the stack to Jeanette, some tension seemed to ease out of her. </p>
<p>“Thank you, ma petite.”</p>
<p>A thought finally occurred to me, and I blamed the recent emotional upheaval for my inability to grasp the freaking obvious. </p>
<p>“Someone’s threatened me.” </p>
<p>She nodded. “Yes.” </p>
<p>“Who?” </p>
<p>She hesitated, and some of that weariness bowed her shoulders forward. </p>
<p>“His name is Asher Louviere. He is a Master vampire who is seeking a city to rule.” </p>
<p>“Asher? The one who took you from the Lord you were serving and turned you?” </p>
<p>“He stole me away, yes, but it was Belle Morte who turned me. Asher was my...” </p>
<p>She struggled to find a fitting description. Faint longing softened her features. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. That look said it all. Everything. He’d been her everything, at some point. </p>
<p>“Things didn’t work out?” I ventured, breaking the silence.</p>
<p>Jeanette laughed, and the sound was so bitter I could almost taste it. “Oui, that is one way to put it.” </p>
<p>“Why does he want to kill me?” </p>
<p>Jeanette shook her head, and a few of her curls tumbled loose from her bun. She’d stopped straightening it every evening after I’d told her I liked the curls. I had the fleeting urge to push them behind one delicate ear and toy with the small clip-on stud earrings she wore. I clenched my hand into a fist on my lap. Fuck. Why did I always react like this?</p>
<p>“It’s a long story, ma petite, and you are on a schedule.” </p>
<p>I pushed to my feet, pocketing the card and making a beeline for the door. </p>
<p>“Asher will learn that it is pointless,” Jeanette sighed as I reached the door. “It is no blow at all if he kills a servant who hates me.” </p>
<p>I paused with my hand on the door frame.</p>
<p>“Hate? Is that what you think this is?” </p>
<p>I couldn’t help the words that slipped out, choked with some emotion I couldn’t even put a name to. I wanted to run, scream, cry, or maybe just laugh. I had no fucking clue what to do, except leave. </p>
<p>So I did, too chickenshit to glance back and catch the look on the vampire’s face.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>From what I recall of canon, there really isn't a system in place for human servants or therians to call who work outside the territories they technically belong to. I think it's a plot point in Blue Moon and Skin Trade that I can remember. Basically, I really thought there should be something that protects the average dude on the street from getting killed. Maybe it was mentioned in canon, but I can't recall at the moment.</p>
<p>And the names. The freaking names in these books. It's mentioned vampires fight duels to keep their names. My personal opinion is that's LKH justifying why there's so many outrageous names for her vampires. Seems really wasteful and kind of silly, especially since Jean-Claude is actually a pretty common name? How many people has JC fought to keep it? </p>
<p>So I'm gonna do away with that rule, and the rule about vampires in this canon only having one name. Even if they only go by one name in vampire circles, I'm certain that most governments would force them to adopt a surname if only for tax purposes. </p>
<p>"It just says Jean-Claude, sir." </p>
<p>"Which one? There's a thousand six hundred and sixty-four in the U.S." </p>
<p>So no. If you all have suggestions for last names for the other characters, I'd love to hear them! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The flight from Lambert International to Duluth International was around four hours long, and as per my usual ritual, I popped a pill to help me through the ordeal. I'd been a nervous flyer all my life, preferring to take a twelve-hour road trip to visit Grandma Flores after she and Grandpa Flores managed to acquire citizenship and move to Houston. I'd been even happier when they'd moved to Stillwater a year later. No more plane trips for me....until senior trip rolled around. </p>
<p>One minute, the flight attendant was leaning across the aisle to take my friend's order, and the next the plane hit a violent patch of turbulence that left us pointing nose down. Eventually, the plane straightened out, but it was the last time I'd flown conscious.</p>
<p>I'd planned to skip the Hawaii trip altogether. A certain quarterback was planning to attend, and I'd have rather swallowed a live tarantula than go near him. By a twist of fate my grandmother's werewolf neighbor and occasional farmhand, Verne Whitfield, had <i>just happened</i> to overlook the pedestrian in the crosswalk and tapped Clayton with his Buick. </p>
<p>It laid out Clayton for a few months, and his legs were never the same again. Bye-bye scholarship to Penn State, hello family business. So far as I knew, he was still working for his father and married to one of the girls he'd assaulted a month after me. Kylee hadn't reported him, but I'd known precisely what happened when she came to me shaking, begging me to buy a pregnancy test. After all, I had a reputation and she didn't. </p>
<p>She'd taken the test at Grandma Blake's, and I'd been the one to hold her when it came back positive. Grandma Blake offered to take her somewhere and have the pregnancy terminated or, failing that, put it up for adoption without Clayton ever knowing. </p>
<p>Kylee had refused. She was pregnant in a small town. Marrying the baby daddy was karmic punishment for daring to open your legs before marriage, even if it hadn't been your idea. Her consent would never enter into the equation. She knew it, I knew it, and Clayton Snyder knew it too. By the end of the month, she was married and seven months later she had the baby "early." </p>
<p>Did I regret what Verne had done, intentional or not? No. But I wanted to smuggle Kylee and her three kids out of Stillwater every damn time I passed through. </p>
<p>I was still groggy when we cleared security at Duluth International. My vampire hunting kit was allowed through after a long, involved talk with the head of security. Flashing my executioner's badge helped, even if it wasn't valid for this state, but it was Edward's good ol' boy persona that eventually won the day. </p>
<p>"What's the scowl for?" Edward said, still grinning as he hiked two of my bags on his shoulder. </p>
<p>I wasn't 6'6" and built like an Amazon like my friend, and Jeanette's head of security, Claudia. There was no way I was going to be able to haul five bags to the rental SUV in one go. Doing it all myself would waste time we didn't have. Our next stop would be the home of Josef Weis, the Master of Kinford County, in order to pay our respects. </p>
<p>It wasn't <i>technically</i> necessary to visit Josef. Every vampire or vampire adjacent member of the team had visas, either real or forged. His territory was small, only a hundred and eighty square miles, comprising three towns; Lockridge, Presdale, and Dunby. Master Vampires in charge of rural areas ruled over entire counties and were growing more common as the world settled into its new, pro-vampire state. They weren't taken seriously by the big city types. Though they could rule over large tracts of land, they ultimately had only a handful of vampires and were lucky to have a wereanimal group in the area, let alone their own animal to call. </p>
<p>We could have left Josef well enough alone, but we wouldn't. Kissing a little undead ass from the get-go could save us trouble down the line. It'd probably be best to let Edward do the talking. I was through kissing ass. I'd kissed so much client, work, and vampire ass in the last twenty-four hours my lips were beginning to chap. I needed to keep my mouth shut and get some goddamn Carmex. </p>
<p>"Nothing," I groused, settling the carry-on that housed my vampire hunting kit higher on my shoulder. A can of blessed Aquanet rattled against one of the stakes in the interior. </p>
<p>Edward gave me a sly grin as we approached the white Ford Edge tucked into the back corner of the parking lot. "Buck up, then. You're about to meet the team. Besides..." </p>
<p>He paused, and the impish smile grew wider. My fingers twitched, readying for the swing that look deserved. Backpfeifengesicht, the Germans would have called it. A face that's badly in need of a fist. </p>
<p>"You're prettier when you smile," he finished, grin downright smug. </p>
<p>He looked a little less smug when the tip of one shoe struck his shin. He sucked in a sharp breath, but that was the only indication he gave that he'd felt the blow. His smirk never disappeared.</p>
<p>"Oh fuck you," I hissed. </p>
<p>He chuckled and straightened out of a defensive crouch. He held his hands up in surrender. </p>
<p>"You're too easy, Anita." </p>
<p>"Get in the fucking car, Edward, before I book a flight home. I don't have the time or energy for this." </p>
<p>"Oh, the twins are just gonna love you."</p>
<p>"Twins?" I repeated skeptically. "Exactly how many people are on this mission, Edward?"</p>
<p>Just how many of Van Cleef's scariest was I about to meet? </p>
<p>"Counting you and me? Six. Two vampires, one weretiger, you, and a human psychic. He was with me during the initial discovery, so he's been exposed. Harley agreed to wait at the Lockridge Community center while the rest of us gobble vampire cock for a while." </p>
<p>Glad someone was as unhappy at the prospect as I was. It did make me wonder about these twins, though. Van Cleef and his people specialized in monsters, hunting them from the time of the Inquisition on, according to Edward. The entry-level requirement for a non-human member of the organization was to have killed five experienced hunters. Had it been a group effort, or had Van Cleef required five each? Were five of Edward's colleagues dead, or had it been ten?</p>
<p>Edward opened the back door and motioned for me to slide inside. It appeared shotgun was already taken. So, after a moment of silent fuming, I slid into the only available seat and slid the seatbelt into its buckle with the precision of a woman handling explosives. Then, and only then, did I take stock of my companions. </p>
<p>The pair of female vampires that filled out the remainder of the bench seat were so dissimilar it was difficult to believe they were related, let alone twins. I supposed if I squinted I could make out a few similarities. Both were tall, scarred, and had heavy, almost masculine jaws. Both had their hair braided back in an intricate style that left their faces bare, unadorned, but strikingly beautiful. </p>
<p>But that was where the similarities ended. </p>
<p>The first vampire twin had hair so dark it missed black by only a shade or two. She had a slight widow's peak and a scar that bisected her full lower lip. It looked like she'd been hit so often it never quite healed, even when she came over as a vampire. She had another shiny white scar running the length of her pale throat like someone had tried to hack at her jugular. </p>
<p>Her eyes were like quicksilver, swimming with mercurial thought as she stared into the distance. They flicked to me only once, assessing, and then dismissing me. </p>
<p> The nearest vampire's hair was the color of honey, which meant she'd been a nice medium blonde in life. Without the sun, the color grew dimmer, darkening until it settled into this sullen shade. </p>
<p>Her eyes were a startling, summery blue in the winter paleness of her face, fringed with incredibly long eyelashes. She blinked up at me, guileless and oh-so-pretty, using all that beauty as a shield. Don't mind me, it said. I'm harmless. </p>
<p>Her power slid over me in a subtle, almost effortless glide, a touch you almost don't register. I let her do it, rolling the flavor of it across my tongue. It bubbled and burst with potential, like downing a bag of pop rocks. I almost wanted to spit it back at her. Instead, I offered her a smile. </p>
<p>It seemed to startle her. Had a human ever broken from her gaze before? I doubted it. Not at her age, </p>
<p>"One thousand, seven hundred and...ten? Or is it fifteen? I'm never too precise on the individual years."</p>
<p>The blonde vampire gave another slow blink before those delicate, pink petal lips stretched into a truly delighted smile. </p>
<p>"One thousand seven hundred and thirteen, actually," she said, and there was just a hint of an accent to the words. English or Welsh, maybe. "Edward said you were good, but I wanted to see for myself. I've never met a real necromancer before. I expected you to be..."</p>
<p>Her gaze swept the length of me, from the worn Nikes all the way up to the frizzy ends of my hair. I hadn't had a chance to run a comb through it after stepping off the plane. It was an effort not to squirm as she examined me. I settled for crossing my arms under my breasts. </p>
<p>"Taller," she finished, grinning hard enough to flash fangs at me. </p>
<p>"Oh I put it on my Christmas list every year, but the fat bastard never came through. So now I'm stuck in the workshop." </p>
<p>The brunette gave a dry snort and her lips twitched, threatening a smile. It never quite blossomed, but I had a sense it was still an accomplishment. </p>
<p>"The malcontent in the window seat is my sister, Verity," the blonde said, grin never dimming. "And I'm Malicia. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Blake." </p>
<p>"Verity. That's pretty. It means truth, right?" </p>
<p>Verity nodded and said nothing. </p>
<p>Malicia smirked. "Care to guess what my name means?" </p>
<p>I knew enough Latin to take a stab at it. "Slyness, deceit, or malice."</p>
<p>Malicia clapped her hands as though I'd said something precious. "Very good. The call sign is Wicked, for future reference." </p>
<p>I turned the involuntary groan into a cough. What was it with the vamps and their pretentious names? Wasn't Malicia unique enough on its own? </p>
<p>"If you are quite through socializing, there is work to be done," a man all but snarled into my ear.</p>
<p> I jumped and swiveled to see the last member of our group straining his seatbelt so he could glare over the back of his seat. The sound of his voice unexpectedly deep and so loud at this proximity that it felt like I'd pressed my ear to a subwoofer. </p>
<p>His head was completely shaved, though I could see hints of stubble already peeking through. He must be one of those men who had to shave twice in order to keep his face smooth. There was a shadow around his mouth that might have once been a Van Dyke beard. A pair of enormous black caterpillars guarded the dark caverns of his eyes. If I strained, I could make out pitless brown eyes set like smoky quartz glinting out at me. </p>
<p>Yes, that seemed fitting. There was often a warmth to the color brown. The soft cinnamon shade of Willie's eyes sprang to mind. The liquid dark chocolate of my mother's, the rich hazel of Curtis' eyes, the deep earthy brown of Manny's. There was no warmth in these eyes. They were hard as flint and as pitiless as a shark's. </p>
<p>My skin ran cold for a moment. The trained soldier's sense Edward had literally beaten into me over the years stood at attention. I knew a predator when I sensed one. This man was dangerous. He had to be, in order to join Van Cleef. So why did he hit my radar more than the millennium-old twins? </p>
<p>Was it the coiled, deadly grace of the tiger I could feel just under the human facade? Even that didn't make sense to me. There were plenty of predatory therians in and around St. Louis. So it wasn't his beast. It was the man that scared the shit out of me. </p>
<p>He saw, smelled, <i>tasted</i> my fear, and let it show in his face how much he liked it. And it pissed me off. So, even knowing it was a bad idea, I met his gaze squarely, setting my jaw, giving him my cold, no-nonsense stare right back. He'd spooked me, but that didn't make me cowering, helpless prey. He expected a fluffy bunny. He'd be getting a wolverine. </p>
<p>Without even consciously thinking about doing so, I'd settled into something of a firing posture, drawing the Browning just out of his sightline. There was no hiding it from him forever, with a therian's keen sense of smell. He'd smell the cleaner, primer, and the component parts of the gun. </p>
<p>The pleased look didn't dim, but he did incline his head just a fraction of an inch. </p>
<p>"Intelligent. For a woman." </p>
<p>He said the last with a contemptuous sneer. Yeah, it was official. I didn't like this creep.</p>
<p>"This is Otto Jefferies," Verity said, and the tone let me know she liked Otto about as much as I did. "The newest contender for the vacant position of Pestilence." </p>
<p>"Is he your servant?" I asked. </p>
<p>"No," Otto barked, outraged by the mere thought. If he didn't scare the piss out of me, I might have found it funny. "Neither bitch calls cats and I am not some spineless beta male to bend to their will if they did." </p>
<p>"Like I'd want a peevish little pussy like you," Malicia shot back. </p>
<p>A blade was just suddenly there, naked in Otto's hand, those pitiless eyes fixed on her, stripping her bare with his gaze. He was thinking of being inside her, alright. Inside of her chest cavity. </p>
<p>Malicia let out a pealing laugh. In the time it took me to blink, she'd managed to unbuckle her belt, draw a short blade, and bring the point of it to the skin just under his eye. </p>
<p>"Here kitty, kitty," she cooed. </p>
<p>"Enough," Edward barked. "He's right. We don't have time for this. Otto, get a handle on yourself. Malicia, don't bait him. And Anita?" </p>
<p>I caught his gaze in the rearview mirror as he backed the SUV slowly from its parking space. </p>
<p>"Yeah?" I asked, wondering what I'd done to earn the look he was giving me. For once, I hadn't been the instigator. </p>
<p>"If Otto gets up close and personal again, shoot him."</p>
<p>I couldn't help a smile. "Yes, sir."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A couple of changes have been established. I'm not intending to gender flip a ton of characters, but I really liked the idea of Verity and Malacia. </p>
<p>And yes, I know Olaf is a werelion in canon, but I have a reason for changing it to tiger that will be revealed later on. Personally, I think LKH only gave him the werelion strain because she feels the incessant need to pair Anita off with a "King" to her "Queen" despite saying that Anita is Prince Charming, not the princess and does all her own saving. I'm pretty sure it will be her justification if Olaf/Anita becomes a thing. </p>
<p>Also, I'll establish it now. Someone in the organization knows what Olaf does, but not Edward. Why? Because I'm sure Edward would kill him. It's not a morality thing, it's a you-have-no-impulse-control-and-you'll-get-us-caught thing. Despite being told he can be charming, he is nothing but creepy in canon and does very little to justify why Anita and co. leave him alive every time he shows up on screen. Anita, as a moral character, should want to kill Olaf for morality's sake. Edward should want to kill him for practicality's sake. </p>
<p>In this fic, he'll appear to be a violent uber-incel-y asshole, but not a killer...until a much later fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Gee, I wonder which house we’re looking for?” I drawled. </p><p>The two-story, half-timbered house sat about a mile up a hill overlooking the gravel sideroad that led away from Dunby. Ivy climbed up the side of one house, half-obscuring the shiny, dark-paned Tudor windows that overlooked the road. I didn’t imagine Josef or his people minded much. I imagined the only ones who’d enjoy them during daylight were his animal to call and his pomme de sang. </p><p>A pomme de sang, as I’d recently learned, was the French term for a regular blood donor. Other countries had different names for it, no doubt, but my German was a little rusty, so I could only take a wild stab in the dark. Blutspender, maybe? The German language could be so wonderfully straightforward. </p><p>I was still mulling it over when we crunched to a stop outside Josef’s oversized home. A Bauernhaus, as Great-Grandpa Blake would have called it. He hadn’t been a cultured or well-traveled man, but he’d handed down everything he could recall of his home country to his children. Grandma Blake had passed it on to dad, and eventually me. </p><p>I didn’t really have the memory for language, but I’d been hearing German most of my childhood. I wasn’t fluent, but it had finally earned me a foreign language credit after I failed dismally in Spanish and French. I had a feeling it’d come in handy during this mission. Otto’s thick, vaguely familiar accent probably meant he probably hailed from Hamburg. I knew from the briefing Edward had given before takeoff that Josef had been turned in 1578 and would consider himself Prussian, not German. Maybe there’d been too much linguistic drift in the intervening centuries, but I was hoping to catch at least a little if he went off.</p><p>Josef was only a century and change younger than Jeanette and a Master vampire. So why was he trapped out here in the boonies? Wouldn’t someone of his age and status feel comfortable running a city? I didn’t like not having a concrete answer.</p><p>We piled out of the car and started for the elegant wrap-around porch. It seemed tacked on like an afterthought. A pergola shaded the oak door, dripping with dying ivy. The first hard frost had hit Minnesota weeks ago, and the landscape had been bleak. Snow plastered mats of brown leaves to the ground, covering them like a layer of inexpertly done paint. A curling oak leaf still poked from the drifts every once in a while, like an avalanche victim trying to claw its way to the surface.</p><p>Otto turned out to be a great deal taller than I’d expected. If he looked up, he could probably squint at seven feet, and all of him was corded with lean, functional muscle. He kept in shape, and the coiled grace in those long limbs told me he knew just how to use all that physical potential. I didn’t chase him down when he moved ahead to flank Edward. </p><p>Occasionally he’d glance back at me, sizing me up like a butcher looking for choice cuts. Not to be outdone, I glared back, trying to do the math if I had to draw on him. Could I reach my Browning or Firestar before he drew the Glock in his shoulder holster? A tiger’s skull was sixteen or seventeen millimeters thick versus the seven millimeters of a human skull. If I had to fight him in beast or half-man form, things would get dicey. With only 9mm on my person, I’d have to use every bullet in the magazine and score a perfect shot every time to kill him. Anything else would just piss him off. </p><p>I was contemplating doubling back for my mini uzi when he finally tore his gaze away from me with a contemptuous sneer. I’d kept my face carefully neutral, projecting blank cop face, giving him nothing. Apparently, the game wasn’t as fun if he couldn’t spook me a little. </p><p>“What’s his damage?” I muttered when I was sure that Otto was out of earshot. </p><p>Malicia and Verity moved to either side of me, wedging me in the middle of our line like the meat between two slices of white bread. Malacia actually linked arms with me with a wide, toothy smile, flashing glittering fangs at me. I glanced down at her hand on my forearm. </p><p>“Let go. You’re compromising my gun arm.” </p><p>“He’s not going to shoot you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Malicia said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Otto prefers a blade when he can manage it, and he’s here on Edward’s good graces. Once he gives his word of honor, you can count on him in a fight. Just watch yourself on the way home.” </p><p>“I don’t care. Otto isn’t the only thing we have to worry about, and I don’t like you well enough to compromise my gun hand. <i>Let go</i>.” </p><p>Malicia’s full lower lip jutted in a practiced pout. It was charming, really, the way she batted her lashes, that mischievous twinkle in her eye. Would holding her hand really be that bad?</p><p>The crucifix tucked under my shirt seared my skin, and I spilled it from the neckline of my shirt and jacket before it could cause a flash burn. I’d had my fill of burns after my run-in with Valentine and didn’t want another on my breast. It burst into incandescent light the moment it hit open air and lit the winter evening like a flashbulb, temporarily blinding everyone in the vicinity.</p><p>Malicia released me and shrank back with a cat-like hiss, knocking into Verity, staggering them both. By the time they recovered sufficiently, I had the Browning out and aimed at Malacia. An overreaction, maybe, but I’d seen her move. That hadn’t been vampire mind tricks, she really was that fast. This way I had a sporting chance if she died to push things. </p><p>“Try that again, and I’ll scramble the inside of your skull.” </p><p>Verity wrapped long, implacable fingers around her sister’s bicep before she could lunge forward. </p><p>“Forgive my sister. She forgets her manners with embarrassing frequency. And to answer your question, Ms. Blake, Mr. Jefferies would have been comfortable in any other century or culture, where women’s rights were limited to nonexistent. The fact there are so many well-trained and dangerous women in Van Cleef’s organization irritates him.” </p><p>I felt a little silly aiming the Browning at them after Verity calmly laid out the facts, and it wasn’t as if I could waltz into Weis’ home with the weapon naked in my hands. The light of my cross dimmed, and I finally holstered my gun.</p><p>“A bonafide misogynist. <i>Super</i>. So why should we put up with him? Exactly what does he bring to the table? And for that matter, what do you two contribute?” </p><p>“Aside from good looks and charm?” Malicia quipped, her coy smile melting at the edges when my hard stare didn’t waver. </p><p>“Aside from that.”</p><p>A strand of ivy tickled my nose as we mounted the stairs and ducked under the pergola. Tense as I was, the brittle brush against the foliage made me jump. Twitchy already. That boded well. </p><p>“Otto is a former member of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit and my sister is a trained crisis negotiator, diplomat, and deprogrammer.” </p><p>She flashed me another smile, apparently over her brief fit of pique. Mercurial. I didn’t like working with mercurial people. They were loose cannons, and loose cannons got people killed. Not always the ones they were aiming for. </p><p>“And what do you do? I doubt you’ve got a diplomatic bone in your body.” </p><p>Verity quickly stifled a laugh behind one gloved hand. Malacia didn’t seem to find it funny. </p><p>“Counterterrorism. Specifically, weaponry. Even more specifically dealing with IED, unexploded ordinances, and anything else that goes ‘boom.’ There’s every chance Summer Fox and her people have planted a device somewhere around Lockridge. If there is such a device, I’ll find and diffuse it.” </p><p>Bombs. Jesus. After seeing the pictures, I’d been thinking biochemical, but she had a point. Though rare, eco-terrorists had used bombs to get their point across in the past.</p><p>But why here and why now? Lockridge was a nowhere town in rural Minnesota, as pristine as possible to be in the current climate. Hell, they didn’t even over-fish the nearby lakes.  Perhaps the Master of the County would have the answers we needed.</p><p>So, with an uneasy pit forming in my stomach, I stepped through the half-open door and into the vampire’s lair. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The interior of the Bauernhaus was as humble as the exterior. The only concessions to the Spartan atmosphere were strictly utilitarian. A coat rack pushed against the far wall, a few industrial strength snow mats, and a shoe rack just to one side of the door. I thought I could spy a blue hallway runner leading down the adjacent corridor, but couldn’t be sure without leaning around Otto, and there was only so much I was willing to do to sate my curiosity. </p>
<p>Something told me that if I remained within range for longer than a few seconds, Otto would lock one well-muscled arm around my throat, put me into a headlock, and squeeze until I stopped squirming. </p>
<p>Most of the house appeared to be gray stone and bare rafters. I was honestly surprised the roof wasn’t thatched. Maybe it was too much of a fire hazard. Vampires were notoriously flammable. </p>
<p>We’d barely cleared the narrow foyer when a young man stepped from the corridor to block our path forward. He wasn’t tall or broad, but a sense of presence clung to him, an aura of power that would make even a psychic null sit up and take notice. There was no way he could be mistaken for human, but the uninitiated would probably assume he was a therianthrope of some sort. </p>
<p>His tight curls were precisely the shade of duckweed and had all but sheared off by an overzealous barber. The fade left a fine layer of pale green stubble in its wake. He was clean-shaven, so any newcomer was struck by the delicate, doll-like features of his face. He was perfect. Unsettlingly so. Just close enough to human that the differences were that much more unnerving. Eyes too large for the face, the irises a green almost too dark to distinguish from the pupil. The lovely petal pink lips were thin and slightly asymmetrical. His skin was flawless and had a faint silver undertone that would ripple and change subtly under light, opalescent. </p>
<p>There were other signs, unmistakable if you knew what you were looking for. His slightly crooked barefoot gait and the damp footprints he tracked into the foyer were dead giveaways. I knew what I was looking at, even if I was surprised as hell to find one in Minnesota. And to find a vampire whose animal to call wasn't truly an animal at all.</p>
<p>I darted a quick glance at the others, and found them wary, but not for the reasons they ought to be. Edward’s gaze swept from the crown of the stranger’s head down to his graceful feet, searching for gun bulges under the billowy green pirate shirt. Edward didn’t seem to realize that the man <i>was</i> a weapon. </p>
<p>The man’s lips twitched into a small smile, and elfin mischief glimmering in the darkness of his too-large eyes. </p>
<p>“Greetings,” he said, voice running like cool water over my skin. </p>
<p>I’d felt something similar over the years and managed to repress a shiver. None of the others could have known to brace for it and reacted like they’d been doused by a bucket of ice water. Malacia actually gasped, which only made the man’s grin widen.</p>
<p>“My name is Ehrhart,” he continued, seeming to relish the reaction. “My master has ordered me to escort you to the greenhouse. Your communique arrived only fifteen minutes ago, I’m afraid. You must forgive the spotty reception, hardly any outside word gets to us in a timely manner. Something about the land here doesn’t agree with technology.”</p>
<p>Vampires loved to play mind games and made everything a game of politics. It could be exhausting. But this time, I suspected Ehrhart was telling the truth. My cell phone had thrown up a no service signal from the moment we’d entered Kinford County. Ordinarily, I’d have chalked it up to shitty cell coverage, but with a terrorist on the loose? It felt sinister. We had no fucking clue what Summer Fox had been getting up to in Lockridge. An EMP could very well have factored into her plans. </p>
<p>Edward recovered himself first and forced a genial, good ol’ boy smile that never reached the pitiless blue of his eyes. </p>
<p>“Pleasure to meet you, Ehrhart. I’m Special Agent Bobby Brogan, and this here is my team. We’re here to address some strange goings-on in your master’s territory.” </p>
<p>Edward threw an arm around Otto’s shoulders in a brotherly gesture and pulled him in tight. Otto stiffened beneath the touch and peeled Edward’s grip off his shoulder at once, grumbling in German. I thought I caught “Schwuchtel” somewhere in the mix and had to fight not to scowl. A misogynist <i>and</i> a vocal homophobe. I was beginning to see why he’d been booted from the FBI. </p>
<p>“This here is Otto Jeffries, a former member of our department, and these lovely ladies are consultants. Verity and Malicia Shankland, and Anita Blake.” </p>
<p>Ehrhart’s expression didn’t flicker when my name rolled off Edward’s tongue. After all the publicity we’d garnered last month, the media leaped on my name like a pack of vicious Rottweilers, picking apart every facet of my life and disseminating what they’d found to the masses. He was staring at me, but not with the gawking fascination I’d gotten used to. </p>
<p>Ehrhart’s gaze flicked to Otto, assessing the physical potential of the towering man. Even knowing what I knew about Ehrhart, I still wasn’t sure he could take the near-giant German. </p>
<p>“Gehört der Kleine Ihnen?” he asked. </p>
<p>Oh fuck no.</p>
<p>Otto opened his mouth to reply, and I cut him short with a glower, clearing my throat loudly to drown his words. </p>
<p>“First off, ich kann Deutsch sprechen and no, I’m not Otto’s anything. And before you get any ideas, I’m not going anywhere with you either. I’m sure Josef won’t appreciate the media attention drowning the Executioner would bring.” </p>
<p>At last, the smile dimmed. His dark eyes went flat, his expression reserved. </p>
<p>“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Ms. Blake.” </p>
<p>Edward craned his neck to look at me. “Something I should know about Mr. Ehrhart, Anita?” </p>
<p>“He’s a water spirit. A nixe, in particular.” </p>
<p>“Like a mermaid?” he asked. </p>
<p>I shook my head. “Different species. Close enough to breed, but it’s only happened a handful of times in recorded history. Nixe are freshwater spirits, and they don’t do well in the open sea. They’re sort of fae-adjacent, so they put off a unique magical signature. It’s like shooting a flare. Sirens pick them off quickly.” </p>
<p>Edward quirked a brow. “And sirens are different than mermaids?” </p>
<p>“Very.” </p>
<p>Edward seemed to swallow a sigh, a reaction I’d seen plenty in high school. Nobody likes a know-it-all. He didn’t ask me to elaborate. </p>
<p>Ehrhart’s face grew colder with every word. He ground his teeth audibly, scraping like sandpaper over gravel. </p>
<p>“Clever girl,” he bit out. </p>
<p>“Just well-connected,” I said with a shrug. “There’s a colony in the Stillwater Reservoir. Lamar tried to drown me on my twelfth birthday.”</p>
<p>And he’d tried to drag Richard into the murk shortly after I introduced the two. Nixe were territorial, but like most species with distant fae origins, they could be placated with gifts and sacrifices. I didn’t have most of what I’d need to completely diffuse this situation, but I’d damn well try. The last thing I needed was to start a pissing contest with Ehrhart. </p>
<p>Keeping steady eye-contact, I pulled one silver-alloy blade from one of my wrist sheaths and pressed the tip into the pad of my thumb. Blood welled immediately, forming a perfect crimson bead on my skin. I held it out to him. </p>
<p>“I don’t have a sacrifice or snus, but will this do?” </p>
<p>Ehrhart’s gaze was glued to the bleeding digit. A tiny pink tongue glided over his lips, and I caught a gleam of sharp, needle-like teeth in his maw before he snapped it shut again. He padded forward, gait still uneven. He must spend a great deal of time in the water. Even Lamar was steadier than this. </p>
<p>His hands locked around my wrists, damp and cool to the touch. I knew that if he slanted his mouth over mine, he’d taste like the icy snow-fed waters of the Brocken where Lamar and his people once lived. The clan leader had stolen my first kiss, stunning my awkward preteen self, before he’d dragged me under. I leaned into him, catching a hint of pine, where the roots had snaked too close to the river. </p>
<p>“Acceptable,” he murmured, bending his head toward my hand. </p>
<p>“A promise,” I said, pulling the bloody thumb away. “No attempts on our lives.” </p>
<p>His hands locked like iron manacles on my wrists, fingernails digging through my sleeves, biting into my skin. For a moment I thought he’d force the issue, flaying the skin from my wrists to get more of the precious liquid. </p>
<p>“No harm shall come to your retinue, Lady,” he said at last. “My solemn vow.” </p>
<p>Then Ehrhart drew the bloody appendage into his mouth with reverence, never taking his eyes off me. He seemed fixated, a manic glow in his unsettling eyes that made me want to bolt in the other direction. I was already the object of obsession for a vampire and an alpha werewolf. I <i>so</i> didn’t need fish-boy on top of it all. If I kept going, I’d have a zoo. </p>
<p>It almost made me snort, as I remembered sitting on mom’s lap, eagerly pointing at the four-footed lion in the Dr. Seuss book.</p>
<p><i>If I ran the zoo, I’d make a few changes,</i> I thought, as Ehrhart lapped up my blood. <i>I’d tell the whole damn menagerie to leave me the fuck alone. That’s what I’d do.</i>  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the short transitional chapters. We'll be getting to the good stuff soon, I promise. I just didn't want to make this chapter obscenely long.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My thumb was still throbbing when we stepped through the backdoor and into the sprawling, snow-capped lawn. I tucked the thumb into a pocket, out of sight, hoping it would at least stifle the scent. The shallow cut would ooze for a while, thanks to the anticoagulant in nixe saliva. </p>
<p>Three geodesic dome greenhouses glittered like polished gems in the silvery moonlight, their brilliance diminished by a powdery layer of snow that clung to the rounded tops. Several of the laminated glass panels were splashed with color, an abstract mosaic splashing the wavering moonlight onto the plants inside.</p>
<p>An invisible band tightened across my chest as I stared at the incredible sight. I felt an absurd urge to pull my phone out and snap a picture and send it to... who? Mom? She'd been the only person I'd known who'd truly appreciate this. It was the sort of thing my mother would sigh over in magazines. Most women had <i>Cosmo</i> and <i>O Magazine</i>. My mother had <i>Garden Gate</i> and <i>Birds and Blooms</i>. </p>
<p>Dad had torn out the walls of the old tool shed just after I turned eight. He’d used the existing frame to build mom a greenhouse with PVC panels and a used wooden door. It hadn’t been pretty, but it had been functional. I still remembered digging my small fingers into the dirt near hers, planting cilantro, thyme, and Mexican oregano for recipes we’d never try. </p>
<p>Judith had converted the greenhouse into an art studio a few years later, retreating there when the life of a pampered soccer mom grew too taxing. Oil paint splatters and gesso banished the scent of that long-ago herb garden. She choked out the memory of my mother like an invasive plant species until she all but disappeared from our lives. The only thing left of her was the flowering trees she’d planted in the front yard, and the veritable orchard she’d left in the back. </p>
<p> The glass door to one dome was open, allowing gusts of the frigid November wind to snake into the warm interior of the greenhouse. I caught a whiff of moonflower and evening primrose as we stepped through the narrow entryway. The door was built for someone of my proportions, so Otto had to bend himself like an origami crane to fit his height and bulk through the doorway. Edward followed, and I ended up sandwiched between his back and Verity’s front as we pushed our way inside. </p>
<p>Ehrhart, who’d been holding the door, stepped inside last, closing the glass door, sealing the heat inside the greenhouse. He padded past us, leaving damp footprints on the concrete as he traversed the rows. Some of the raised beds held night-blooming flowers, but most contained hardy winter vegetables. From my vantage point, I could spy kale, parsnips, cabbages, collard greens, peas, and cauliflowers. There were more rows, all bursting with green leaves and sprawling vines. </p>
<p>Josef was seated at a worktable near the back, dead-heading an evening primrose. He was intent on the work, barely glancing up at the sounds of our approach. </p>
<p>Like his nixe servant, Josef wasn’t exceptionally tall. A wine-colored cardigan had been left half-open over a dress shirt and tie. He was a spare man, with hollow cheeks and a brow that had enough time to line permanently with thought. He had a thin, contemplative face, and a hawkish nose built for glasses. His dark hair was shot through with gray, forever balanced toward salt than pepper. A few age spots dotted the pale, leathery skin on the backs of his hands. Overall, I’d have put him in his early fifties when he’d died. </p>
<p>When he’d finished, he set the pruning shears aside and treated us to a genial smile. I almost smiled back. He looked like an undead Mr. Rogers. My cross didn’t burst into incandescent light, so it wasn’t a mind trick. He really looked that wholesome. </p>
<p>“Ah, Agent Brogan,” he said in thickly accented English. “I’m glad you’ve come.” </p>
<p>Edward’s smile was cynical, the good ol’ boy routine slipping a fraction. “Are you now? That’s not something I hear often, especially from vampires.” </p>
<p>Josef’s cheery demeanor didn’t falter. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. It doesn’t change the fact I’m glad you’ve dropped by. You could have faxed over a photocopy of the pertinent visas and been done with it.” </p>
<p>We’d discussed it, but practicality had won out. Josef was our only preternatural lifeline in the area, and Master vampires didn’t tolerate being slighted. Best not to burn the only bridge out of town. Kiss a little ass now, and he could tug ours out of the fire later. </p>
<p>“Alright, I’ll bite. Why are you so damned pleased to see us?” Edward asked.</p>
<p>Josef waved at the empty stretch of workbench. “Have a seat, and hand me the terracotta plant near the back. I’d like to get through them all by dawn if I can. I’ve got some young men from the Church of Eternal life coming to harvest the vegetables tomorrow. The human hopefuls will deliver them to the local food pantry the morning after. I’m afraid they have to be discreet. The locals don’t like the idea of vampire-grown produce. Sad to think pride could allow a family to starve.” </p>
<p>An ache was forming between my eyes. Vampires like this always gave me a headache. The new, average joe undead I understood. A permanent life extension, waiting for the day when life wasn’t quite so shitty. I even understood the older, conniving vampires who inched away from their humanity with every passing year, until the chasm was too great for normal morality to span. </p>
<p>I didn’t understand these anomalies. What did the undead bastards get out of it? Altruism just wasn’t part of a vampire’s nature.</p>
<p>“I take it you’re a part of the Church?” I asked with more scorn than I intended. </p>
<p>I understood Malcolm better after speaking at length with him, but it didn’t mean we’d ever see eye-to-eye. Until recently, he'd thought I was a monster on a leash and had been braced for the day Jeanette set her sights on his church. He’d made most of the founding members, who then planted churches across the U.S. If she could blood-oath Malcolm, she’d own them all. I couldn’t even call him paranoid. It was exactly the sort of coup d’état that Belle's vampires would love to pull. 

But Jeanette's moral stand against Mr. Oliver had surprised me. Surprised everyone really. 
I wasn't sure how Malcolm felt about what had gone down. He'd lost so many, and it could be argued Jeanette was at fault. After all, she'd been Mr. Oliver's target.  </p>
<p>Josef smiled wanly. “Ah, Ms. Blake. You’re as acerbic as the rumors claim.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m a peach,” I said, forcing a smile. “Mind answering the question?” </p>
<p>“I am sympathetic to Malcolm’s plight, but no, I don’t subscribe to his beliefs. I was an Augustinian friar in life, Ms. Blake. I know what the Good Book says. If anyone waits for me on the other side, it is not the Lord Jesus Christ.” </p>
<p>“Perhaps we should discuss theology at a later date?” Verity suggested, seating herself across from Josef. She selected the terracotta pot he’d indicated and handed it to him with a placid look. “Can I infer from your previous statement that you need help? Help that local law enforcement won’t provide?” </p>
<p>Josef nodded, tugging the evening primrose to his side of the worktop. He lifted the shears and began trimming, which seemed to settle him. </p>
<p>“I’ve been Master of Kirkland County for many years. Long before Addison v. Clark made things official. In that time alone, I’ve lost twenty vampires.” </p>
<p>“Lost them how?” I asked. </p>
<p>Josef rolled one thin shoulder. “That’s the strangest part. I don’t know. Vampires who settle here have a choice. Blood oath to me, or join the church. Law enforcement in Middle-America is not kindly disposed to my kind. It’s a matter of safety. I ought to feel it if they are harmed. They just... <i>vanish</i> from my awareness. Scrubbed silently and seamlessly away without alerting me.” </p>
<p>“They couldn’t have picked up and left?” Edward asked. </p>
<p>I shook my head. “Physical distance doesn’t matter. I could be in El Salvador and Jeanette could still contact me.” </p>
<p>“Were there any commonalities among your missing vampires?” Malacia asked, leaning forward, finally interested enough in the proceedings to interject. </p>
<p>“Two,” Josef said, ticking down on his fingers as he spoke. “They’re all less than ten years dead, and they’ve all chosen to settle in Lockridge. Something strange is happening in that town, agents. I strongly discourage therians and vampires from entering the town limits. Kelvin Campbell, a member of the Church in Presdale, attempted to track one of their missing members, and Pastor Gregory hasn’t heard from him in days.” </p>
<p>“And the police haven’t investigated?” I asked. </p>
<p>Vampires were citizens under the law. Surely even a backwoods police department would have to pay attention when there were twenty missing person cases in a town of a little over three hundred? </p>
<p>“There’s nothing to find. They’ve scoured the town with cadaver dogs and troll hounds looking for any trace. They’re gone.” </p>
<p>“So what do you want from us?” I asked. </p>
<p>Josef’s eyes were beseeching when he lifted them from the primrose petals.</p>
<p>“His safe return, Ms. Blake. I’d like my people back alive.” </p>
<p>They weren’t technically alive, but I didn’t correct him.</p>
<p>Goosebumps strained my skin, even through the layers and greenhouse heat. It didn’t matter that they were minnows swimming in the undead pond, those vampires shouldn’t have vanished. Which meant there was something with enough metaphysical muscle in Lockridge to erase a vampire without alerting its master. </p>
<p>And I’d thought a mysterious biological agent and a potential bomb were the worst things I’d uncover on this mission. </p>
<p>Silly me. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lockridge was, fittingly, centered amid a handful of craggy peaks. A smattering of homes began a few miles out, but the town proper was cupped in the sloping valley between two. Some wise guy had the bright idea to name them Adder’s Fork and Blind Worm. </p>
<p>I eyed the glowering rock face suspiciously as we passed under the leaning tower of granite. Snow piled onto the snubbed peak, many feet thick, just one good avalanche away from encasing us in chilly white coffins. Maybe it was my paranoia talking, but blowing the side of a mountain and burying a town in slurry and rubble would certainly make a statement. </p>
<p>What that statement was, I couldn’t even begin to guess. The question had been gnawing at me almost constantly since Edward had revealed what was at stake. Summer Fox had done what most experts agreed was impossible and escaped a specially modified supermax prison, defeated a handful of guards, and walked out without a scratch on her, so far as anyone could tell. The cameras around the prison had glitched several times during the breakout, and no one could say for sure whether that was down to planning or poor allocation of resources. The camera system was woefully out of date. </p>
<p>Ultimately, it was immaterial. The system <i>had</i> glitched, and Summer had escaped. She’d rounded up a group of slavish devotees, and then... what? Ventured into the heart of a Minnesota winter with a chemical agent for... what? Lockridge had no strategic importance. Despite the layers of snow, the place was rather scenic. Why hadn’t Summer stayed true to form and spread this agent in a slaughterhouse? </p>
<p>It was just a small town in the middle of the Minnesotan wilderness. Aside from the disappearance of its preternatural citizens, there was absolutely nothing of note in Lockridge. If there was a statement of purpose in Summer’s actions, I’d missed the point. </p>
<p>Edward took the turns toward town slowly, inching along the snow at a snail’s pace so the tires could hold traction on the sheet of solid ice buried just beneath the powdery drifts of snow. There was almost no road to speak of after a recent storm, and the snowplows had tucked tail and run a half-mile back, turning around on the narrow snow-packed side road that led to Lockridge Memorial Cemetery. Though why was yet another mystery.</p>
<p>The hows and whys of Summer Fox’s doomed trip were secondary to me at the moment. With the tires occasionally losing traction and sliding the car toward the ditch, ninety percent of my concentration was fixed solely on trying to keep my breathing and heart rate under control. I’d be damned if I was going to give Otto an easy way to mock me. I was doing a good job of it, mostly. My heart rate was up, sure, but I wasn’t having a panic attack. It was progress. </p>
<p>Malicia laid a gentle hand on the crook of my elbow, and the cool temperature made me jerk away on instinct. </p>
<p>“Are you alright, Ms. Blake?” she asked. </p>
<p>“Just thinking about Summer Fox,” I said. </p>
<p>And it wasn’t technically a lie. Vampires and wereanimals with a good nose and training for it could sniff out lies. Something about the biochemical changes the human body goes through when we tell falsehoods. Whatever it was, it would have been hell on wheels in an interrogation. It really was a shame regular police didn’t allow shapeshifters into the force. </p>
<p>I understood the reasoning that barred new shapeshifters or vamps from toting a badge. The hungers that came with the new biology were all-consuming for the first year or two, and as Mr. Oliver had proven just a few weeks ago, all it took was one maniac to ruin progress for everyone. The blowhards in D.C. had nixed any notion of hiring on older, more experienced vampires and weres as first responders.</p>
<p>Worse, Senator Brewster had proposed a shiny new federal bureau that would give a federal badge to any state-licensed executioner and imposing a three-strike rule for vampires and weres. Any three arrests would earn an automatic death sentence, no matter how small the infractions. </p>
<p>Mr. Oliver had kicked a hornet’s nest, and now the public was seething. In my experience, there was nothing more dangerous than good ol’ mob mentality. The public support for the bill was staggering, and if it passed, I was betting the fallout would be bloody.</p>
<p>“That’s an awfully pensive look,” Malicia observed with a wry smile. “Penny for your thoughts?” </p>
<p>I shrugged. “None of this makes sense, does it? Where’s the strategic importance? Why now? Why here?” </p>
<p>Otto made a scornful sound from the passenger’s seat. </p>
<p>“Completely insipid speculation. Why else would we be here if not to find the answer?”</p>
<p>I bristled, aiming a glare at the back of Otto’s head. </p>
<p>“How essential is this creep, Edward? He’s really pissing me off.” </p>
<p>“As if a mere woman could best me.” </p>
<p>My lips curled into a smile without my conscious permission. It was an unpleasant little twist of lips that tended to make people nervous. Either he didn’t see it, or it didn’t phase him, because what I could see of his expression didn’t flicker. </p>
<p>“You know what the best part of being a necromancer is, Otto?” </p>
<p>He turned very slightly, giving me a suspicious frown. “What?” </p>
<p>“I can use the same meat shield twice.” </p>
<p>Something very like amusement gleamed in the cave-dark of his eyes before he turned to face forward again. A tiny, vulpine grin that seemed to say, “Try it. I dare you.” </p>
<p>I felt it when we crossed the city limit. It felt like I’d plunged headfirst into deep water, so cold and so eerily silent that I drew in a sharp, involuntary breath. Vicious pressure clamped my head in a vice, and I swore my ears popped. I clenched my jaw to hold in a pained sound as the pressure continued to bear down the clenched metaphysical muscle that was my necromancy, hyper-extending my power until I thought it might snap. It was a struggle not to scream. </p>
<p>Otto jerked in surprise, a soft snarl escaping him as whatever was tearing at my necromancy hit him. Edward shuddered. Only Verity and Malicia remained unmoved. </p>
<p>“I hate that part,” Edward hissed. “It happens every time. This place gives me the creeps.” </p>
<p>Creeps didn’t even begin to cover it. It surprised me that Edward would admit to feeling anything. If my skin weren’t crawling, I’d have ripped him a new one for not deigning to warn me. At least I hadn’t been the only one surprised. Otto seemed worse off than me, straining his seatbelt, eyes bleeding to tiger gold.</p>
<p>“What is that?” Otto asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” I answered, though I doubted he expected one.</p>
<p>And that ignorance scared the hell out of me. I’d experienced several metaphysical attacks over the years, mostly from the undead. This didn’t feel like a mass vampire mind-fuck. It wasn’t the smoldering heat of a powerful therianthrope either. It was like nothing I’d ever felt. The cold clung to my skin like the first touch of hoarfrost, even when some of the pressure let up and I could breathe again. But even when the worst had passed, everything felt strangely muffled, like I was wearing earmuffs. </p>
<p>Verity glanced from one of us to the other, nonplussed. “I’ve missed something.” </p>
<p>“Josef was right. There is definitely something wrong with this place,” I said. “I’ve never felt anything like that. Have you?” </p>
<p>Edward shook his head. “This is a first.”</p>
<p>Otto looked thoughtful. “Once. The Taskforce I was assigned to caught Truman Kinney. His home felt similar.”</p>
<p>“Kinney? The Snapshot Killer?” Verity asked. </p>
<p>Otto nodded. “Our profile narrowed it to Kinney or his lover, Joann Harding.”  </p>
<p>Truman Kinney had been a ruthlessly efficient serial rapist and murderer. His primary target had been young, aspiring models. He lured them to his home for professional headshots, which he’d used to taunt the Highland Police Department for six months straight. The first shots to arrive would be the professional photographs. Fresh-faced and smiling young women, completely ignorant of the horror to come. A few days later, the Detective in charge of the case would receive Snapshots of the girl’s mutilated faces and genitals, like a chilling series of before and after photos. He’d killed twelve girls in total.</p>
<p>The implications of Otto’s words sank in. It was growing increasingly hard to argue with the tiny gibbering voice in my head that warned me to run. Truman was a psychic with the ability to feed on pain. He milked the deaths for maximum suffering, often varying the methods of torture he used. It was bound to leave a sticky metaphysical residue.</p>
<p>“Are you saying we could be dealing with an eco-terrorist, a possible plague, missing vampires, <i>and</i> an active serial killer?” I asked. </p>
<p>While it would at least partially explain the disappearances, I didn't even want to speculate on how powerful a psychic would need to be to capture, torture, and kill a vampire while simultaneously blocking their master from feeling any of it. </p>
<p>“It is possible,” Otto said, and even he seemed a little spooked by the answer.</p>
<p>“Shit,” I muttered. </p>
<p>We were all quiet as our rental skidded onto the main drag. A dozen rust-red brick buildings flanked the narrow street, shadows looming long in the dim light of the iron street lamps. Heavy gray clouds pressed down, spitting fresh snow. We were boxed in on all sides, and fear tired to claw to the fore, closing my throat, more pounding pressure beginning in my temples. </p>
<p>I was suddenly twelve again, squeezed into Grandma Flores’ broom closet, heart pumping, sure I’d be pressed flat as the walls closed in. I swore I could smell mildew and hear the scrabbling of a mouse in the walls. I screwed my eyes shut, and forced myself to breathe through the panic, to remember the reasons I couldn’t run. </p>
<p>When I opened them again, Edward was staring at me, something like concern in the cool blue of his eyes. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” </p>
<p><i>No</i>, I wanted to scream. <i>I am so</i> not <i>okay. This fucking city is trying to crush me.</i></p>
<p>But aloud I said; “Fine. Let’s get going. At this rate, there won’t be enough time to raise anything.”  </p>
<p>A faint smile touched his lips. “That’s what I like to hear, Blake. The sooner we get this squared away, the sooner we can blow this ice rink.” </p>
<p>I couldn’t fucking wait. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Christmas everyone! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Quaint,” Verity quipped, regarding the line of mounted mule deer heads on the wall opposite the door. There were about thirty, squeezed around the unlit stone fireplace like a disembodied herd. </p><p>The Lockridge community center was an amalgam of dark woods and stone, toeing the line between tastefully rustic and tacky. What I’d mistaken for a brown area rug was actually a bearskin. The hardwood floor was only a few shades darker than the walls. The rafters that made up the ceiling were bare, but for a ratty American flag with thirty-two stars and, according to a panel near the door, had been hanging since May 11, 1858, when Minnesota had been declared a state.</p><p>Just beneath it was a glass display case selling the obligatory state memorabilia. Pins, hats, shot glasses, and a few t-shirts. A wire rack nearby extolled the virtues of the nearby lakes, offered a few trail maps, and had a few outdated pamphlets about the dangers of marijuana. So, all in all, fairly standard stuff.   </p><p>There were no windows, and the only light in the place came from the tan and gold Wurlitzer jukebox and a lamp above the display case. The dimness and almost unbroken monochrome made me feel like someone had stuffed me in a box. The nagging sense of claustrophobia returned with a vengeance, tying my guts into knots. </p><p>The only occupant of the room was feeding quarters into the jukebox. A moment later, <i>We’ve Only Just Begun</i> by <i>The Carpenters</i> filled the silence.</p><p>It was difficult to get an accurate picture of him without more light, but what I could make out from the lit panel was... ordinary. His face was a soft oval, with a fairly weak chin. He slouched over the jukebox, and it was difficult to tell if his slender frame resulted from a poor diet, too much cardio, genetics, or a mixture of the three. He was wearing a beige polo over a pair of brown corduroy pants. His aviator jacket hung loose, partially swallowing his small hands. </p><p>At first glance, the average eye tempted to rove past him. The only thing that remotely made him stand out was the rich russet shade of his close-cropped curls. I’d never have pegged him as one of Edward’s people, and that was probably the point. </p><p>“The selection is dismal,” he muttered, half-turning to face Edward as he approached. “Nothing but <i>The Carpenters</i>. It’s like they’re trying to bore me to death.” </p><p>“And yet you’re listening,” Edward observed with a half-smile. “Any change since I left?” </p><p>The man shook his head. </p><p>“Nothing. I can barely see a thing.” He gestured broadly at his temple, a small frown creasing his face. Whatever that meant, it troubled him. “Ms. Howell dropped by to give us our room keys. She’s in the kitchen, making food. Says we shouldn’t go to bed hungry.”</p><p>“Ah, Audrey. Always a peach,” Edward said with a genial smile. It didn’t touch the cool blue of his eyes, but I doubted most people noticed. People saw what they wanted to see. Superficial charm could get you far if you knew how to employ it, and Edward was a superb actor when he needed to be. </p><p>“Harley, I have a few people I’d like you to meet. You know Wicked and Truth by now. This here is Otto Jefferies.” He put another bracing hand on Otto’s shoulder, smirking when the taller man shrugged it off. “And the tiny one in the back is Anita Blake, our prospective member. She’s repaying a favor.”</p><p>The man’s eyes slid past Edward. Hell, they skimmed past each of us in turn, flat and unfocused. They only lingered on me a moment, but it was enough to chill me. In that millisecond of lucidity, his stare seemed to strip me bare. There was nothing sexual in that flat gaze. It was more the clinical examination of an experienced hunter field dressing a deer. I had the uncomfortable sensation he’d peeled back my skin to peek at my insides.</p><p>Then it was over, and his eyes roved past me, eyeing the middle-distance with another frown. He extended a hand lazily and dropped a pair of antique brass keys into Edward’s open palm. Edward gestured for us all to sit in the semi-circle of metal folding chairs near a set of folding doors. </p><p>Edward knocked his knuckles lightly on the wooden frame of the nearest. “According to our host, this is the church for the moment. The two in town are condemned, and the town doesn’t have the money to rebuild just yet. This will be our fallback point if things get hairy. It’s not technically holy ground, so the twins are safe if they stay in the lobby, but there should be enough religious iconography to keep something nasty at bay.”</p><p>I nodded, and slipped a hand into my pocket, dropping a five into the collection box bolted to the wall. It made tactical sense, but the idea still made me uneasy. Surely even a condemned church was better? Unless the blessing placed on the grounds had worn thin, which happened from time to time, I’d still take it over this place. Just like everything else in Lockridge, this seemingly benign building was giving me the creeps. </p><p>It was probably the claustrophobia talking. I wanted a window, damn it. </p><p>A few minutes later a petite woman bustled in, her voluminous green cotton skirt proceeding her into the room by a few seconds. She’d neatly tucked a crisp white blouse into the waistband in a fashion Judith would admire. Her chestnut hair was pulled away from her face into a severe bun, not a hair out of place. Her face was long, and her nose a little too hooked to be considered conventionally attractive, but the timid smile she gave us was pretty enough. She looked like she’d be comfortable selling pocket-sized bibles and brownies at a church bake sale. </p><p>“Here you are,” she said, offering Harley a paper plate loaded with mashed potatoes, turkey breast, and a slice of pumpkin pie. Her smile turned sheepish as she turned to the rest of us. “I’m afraid all we have in the kitchen right now are some leftovers from our early Thanksgiving party.” </p><p>“Don’t you worry, Audrey,” Edward said, turning that superficial smile on the woman. “If you baked it, I’m sure it’s delicious. Some man ought to put a ring on your finger.”</p><p>I thought a pink flush might have crept into her cheeks. She brushed her hands down her blouse, fidgeting with the material like a nervous schoolgirl. His ability to charm women never ceased to amaze me. How could so many of them fall for this act? </p><p>“Well, it’s not for lack of trying, but none of the local men are interested. I think they respect the memory of my late husband too much to give things a fair shake.” </p><p>She gave him another shy smile and passed him a plate. She handed another to me and saved Otto for last. </p><p>“And how do you feel about foreign men?” Otto asked. He gave her a smile that was as fake as Edward’s, turning on the charm with a suddenness that startled me. He even traced a thumb over the back of her hand as she passed him the paper plate. </p><p>Again, she blushed. “I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure.” </p><p>“Perhaps before we leave town you and I could... spend some quality time together.” </p><p>There was something in his tone I didn’t like. I couldn’t put my finger on just what it was, but the suggestive tone and the hungry look in his dark eyes unsettled me. This day was just full of unpleasant surprises. </p><p>“Perhaps." She returned his look with a speculative one of her own. </p><p>Harley squinted at her, frown deepening as she retreated. He shook his head when she took up a position behind the display case. The till on top dinged as she counted the day’s proceeds. </p><p>“This place,” he grumbled. “It’s fucking with everything. I can barely see.” </p><p>“Maybe your third eye needs glasses,” Edward suggested around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. </p><p>“Third eye? As in, the pineal gland?” Verity repeated. “I thought Descartes’ theory had been debunked?” </p><p>“Yes and no,” Harley said, shrugging. He hadn’t freed his spork from the plastic sleeve and let his plate rest untouched in his lap. He didn’t elaborate, though, lapsing into silence, still staring at nothing.</p><p>“What is that supposed to mean?” Malicia asked with a touch of impatience. </p><p>“Psychic abilities have some link to the brain,” I said, nibbling on a bit of turkey. I wasn’t sure my stomach was up for more than the white meat. Pressure still pounded at my temples, making me vaguely nauseous. “Though science can’t explain it yet. Certain areas of the brain light up during MRIs. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, though. The idea that you have to go insane before you can be receptive to psychic powers is erroneous. It’s sort of the opposite, really. Psychic ability can cause mental illness. I know a touch clairvoyant with severe agoraphobia. It can take a toll on the brain, causing all sorts of comorbid disorders. But it’s a stereotype that it happens to every single one of us.” </p><p>I turned to Harley. “I suppose an ability associated with the pineal gland has to do with aura reading.” </p><p>He nodded but said nothing.</p><p>I didn’t mention that reduced pineal gland volume could be disastrous. The least severe side effect would be a fucked up sleep schedule, due to drastically reduced melatonin levels. Aura readers were one in every two million, and most I’d read about developed early-onset schizophrenia. The metaphorical third eye stayed open constantly You could only go so long seeing the truth of things before it fucked you up. Animators were more prone to persistent depressive disorder. As if I’d needed extra reasons to be depressed.  </p><p>I’d been on and off medication for years, but most of my colleagues were just fine. Things had actually gotten a little easier after I’d received the vampire marks. Jeanette, while deeply traumatized herself, had neatly boxed everything away, keeping anything truly nasty from me. The calm, orderly confines of her head were actually soothing at times. </p><p>“And what do you see?” Otto asked, shifting away from Harley. He almost looked... nervous. </p><p>“Monsters, most of the time,” Harley answered. “Right now, I can barely see a thing. There’s so much shit in the air here, it’s like trying to squint through fog. I can’t really see much unless I’m focusing everything I have on it.” </p><p>“Can you see us?” Malicia asked. </p><p>“Yes, if I try. But you’re not really worth looking at.” </p><p>“I feel like I should be offended,” she said, but her smirk took the edge off the remark. “Verity and I were the council’s executioners before we fell in with Van Cleef. Most people find me intimidating.” </p><p>“You reek of blood, but almost everyone here does. You’re not the worst in the room.” </p><p>Otto shifted in his seat, definitely nervous. I expected Harley to turn to him and offer some insight, but his eyes flicked to me. </p><p>“She’s the scariest motherfucker in this room.”</p><p>“Me?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. “You know who you’re sitting with, right? For once, I think I have the lowest kill count in the room.” </p><p>He squinted at me. “There’s something. I see... a malignant black tumor attached to your heart, pulsing darkness into you. There are butcher’s hooks in your skin, anchoring you to... something else.” </p><p>Jeanette’s marks. The description almost made me squirm. The connection felt gentle. She’d never forced my cooperation in anything, but the reminder that she could was discomforting. </p><p>Harley leaned forward in his seat, almost upending his plate. He sniffed the surrounding air, like a hound trying to catch a scent. </p><p>“Jasmine and rain,” he whispered. “Old death and dried blood.” </p><p>A fresh shiver ran up my spine and I fought not to gag. After years of night terrors, I couldn’t stand the smell of jasmine. It was <i>her</i> scent. Marmee Noir, the Queen of Nightmares, the darkness made flesh. Or at the very least, trying to be. She’d begun to stir, and Jeanette feared it was only a matter of time before she manifested. </p><p>Verity and Malicia were regarding me with open suspicion, so I rushed to change the subject. </p><p>“Any ideas why you can’t see?” </p><p>“I have a few, and I’ll investigate on my own time. For now, I think you ladies ought to head to the inn across town. Edward and I will patrol town and see what I can parse out.” </p><p>Ordinarily, I’d have told him to go to hell. Go on, little lady, and let the men work? I didn’t think so. But Harley spooked me, and I wasn’t keen on hearing more about butcher’s hooks and dried blood. Whatever he was up to, I hoped it panned out. I wanted out of Lockridge in the worst way. </p><p>Edward flicked a key at me. I caught it and stuffed it into my pocket.</p><p>“You’ll room with Malicia and Verity. We’ll be across the hall. Have fun at your sleepover.” </p><p>“And just for that, you’re not invited to the lesbian threesome,” I shot back. </p><p>“If I take it back, can I watch?” He leered at me, and I restrained a smile. </p><p>“Get out, Edward, before I punch the smirk off your face.” </p><p>“God, you’re butch,” he drawled, sauntering toward the door. </p><p>I punched him. He laughed. He rubbed at the spot on his arm before waltzing at the door, still chuckling.</p><p>“Asshole,” I muttered, trailing after him into the night, furious pressure pounding in my head, and Harley’s words still ringing in my ears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The only “inn” Lockridge sported was a converted Victorian Gothic home. The side facing Mabon street had once been painted a black, but time and the elements had sanded it down to a light gray. A sweeping wrought-iron staircase led up to a circular porch with a domed roof and white balustrades. The crystal doorknob was dingy, and the copper setting needed a polish. </p>
<p>The inn fit in seamlessly with the rest of Lockridge. Every home, storefront, and side road was shabby, like none of it had received care after the initial settlement had been built in 1850. Malicia reached the door first and burst in without knocking. The door swung inward, the rusting hinges protesting with a loud groan as they were stretched to capacity. </p>
<p>Verity had to catch the door before it could swing wide enough to upend the Rosewood end table perched nearby. She scowled after her sister before seizing the dip pen and inkwell, signing our names in the guest book in cramped cursive. The nib scratched along the brittle pages, grating on my overstretched nerves. </p>
<p>“It’s been ages since I used one of these,” Verity said, smile a touch wistful. “Ballpoints are fine, but I do miss the smell of ink sometimes.” </p>
<p>I didn’t know what to say to that, so I remained silent, side-stepping her to join Malicia. I had to dodge several wingback chairs and shin-busting coffee tables to reach the desk. She was leaning over the polished rosewood counter to give the clerk a coy smile. He was around six feet tall, with wavy blonde hair, hazel eyes, plump cheeks, a thin, rather pointed nose, and a patchy beard. He was long-limbed and awkward. There was an unfinished look to him like he’d needed a few years to grow into the height. I’d have bet good money he’d been eighteen when he died. </p>
<p>Twenty now, I supposed. He was only two years dead. </p>
<p>“Kelvin Campbell?” I asked. </p>
<p>The young man whipped around, staring at me in naked shock. </p>
<p>“Y-yeah. Do I know you, Miss?” </p>
<p>“No, but I know you. My name is Anita Blake.” </p>
<p>What little color he’d had fled his cheeks, and he took a step back, knocking into the key rack that dominated the wall behind him. A few of the brass keys jumped off their hooks and rained down on his head. He didn’t seem to notice. </p>
<p>“The Executioner, oh God, oh God, oh God.” He leaned further into the wall, hands out in front of him like he could ward me away. “I haven’t done anything, I swear.” </p>
<p>Nice to know I was still notorious, even this far north. Maybe if I’d been alert and pain-free, I’d have taken a smidge of pleasure from that, but as it was, I wanted a hot shower and a nice, firm mattress. He couldn’t show me to our room if he was busy begging for his life. </p>
<p>“Methinks the young man protests too much,” Malicia said with a grin. “Have you been a naughty boy, Kelvin?” </p>
<p>“Don’t scare him,” I said, giving her the dirtiest look I could manage. It probably wasn’t my best, because she didn’t even flinch. </p>
<p>“Oh, but it’s so much fun.” </p>
<p>“We’re not here for you,” I said, shifting my gaze to Kelvin. He looked like he wanted to crawl beneath the desk or melt into the wall. Anything to escape. “We’re here about the bodies in the cabin just outside of town. Josef Weis asked us to check in and see if you’re alright. No one has heard from you for days, and they’re getting antsy.” </p>
<p>Kelvin, if anything, looked <i>more</i> nervous than he had just a second before. His eyes wheeled, settling on the door with a frenzied sort of desperation. He looked from one to the other of us, probably weighing if he could dash past us without being skewered. He must have decided against it, because his shoulders slumped, and he dropped his gaze to the rosewood counter. </p>
<p>“I’m just taking a temporary job here to pay for a room. You know, until the snowstorms blow over. James and I don’t want to risk getting caught in a blizzard during the daylight hours. It’s not like we know how to make an igloo or anything, and burrowing isn’t really reliable. What if the snow melts? If that happened, you could just call me Kelvin Bacon.”</p>
<p>Malicia actually laughed. </p>
<p>“And your friend James, he’s working here too?” </p>
<p>Kelvin gripped the edge of the counter, studying the wood grain as if it might spell out the answer that would make me shut up. </p>
<p>“No.” </p>
<p>“Where is he? Maybe I could talk to him as well.” </p>
<p>“He doesn’t like talking to strangers,” Kelvin snapped. “I think you should go, Ms. Blake, unless you want your friends to die for the day in the lobby.” </p>
<p>He had a point. The ornate lancet windows would spill sunlight into the lobby soon. Edward would be pissed if two of Van Cleef’s best were toasted because I’d been stubborn. Kelvin was lying, and I wasn’t sure why. What had shaken him so badly that he’d risk lying to the Executioner? Tales of my temper were exaggerated for maximum fear factor, and I’d done nothing to quash the rumors. </p>
<p>Which meant whatever was lurking in the town was scarier than me. Fuck. </p>
<p> I nodded toward the spiral staircase that wound its way to the second floor. “Which room are we staying in?” </p>
<p>“Room 208,” he answered curtly, still not looking at us. “Jiggle the handle. It sticks.”</p>
<p>Just peachy. </p>
<p>I forced a smile onto my face. “Thank you, Kelvin. I’ll be sure to pass your regards to Josef.” </p>
<p>“You do that,” he mumbled. </p>
<p>I hung back, mounting the stairs slowly to keep Kelvin in sight for as long as possible. Just before I rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight, I saw Kelvin’s face crumple. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders hunching like he might cry. </p>
<p>He was definitely lying. Something was fishy, and tomorrow, I’d get to the bottom of what. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning: Gore, mentions of child murder, and allusions to rape.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Twenty-four years old, and I could count the number of pleasant dreams I’d had on one hand. Even before my mother’s death, sleep had never been a place of refuge. I’d never known what other girls dreamed about, but it was probably a safe bet that blood was rarely a part of the equation. My dad had taken me to a sleep specialist when I was twelve, but nothing helped. </p>
<p>Blood stretched out like a heaving crimson surf, splashing the warm liquid onto my bare feet. There was something in the water, serpentine and black as pitch against the red stuff. A dark frill foamed the water, moving straight toward me. I always woke before it surfaced, but the mere thought of it had been enough to bring me to tears at age five. </p>
<p>Things had gotten progressively worse from there. Grave dirt and maggots writhing in my mouth. I tried to puke, and a grayish loop of intestine came out, slopping onto the ground like an overgrown snake before slithering away. Rotten animals with their insides showing trailing me to and from school. </p>
<p>And then the real fun had begun. </p>
<p>Before I’d ever had a name to put to the desiccated corpse in its grave, I’d dreamed of Marmee Noir. I circled the grave on my belly, scraping my stomach raw, drawing a circle of blood under the watchful eyes of saber-tooths the size of Bush Elephants. </p>
<p>There was no question I’d have nightmares tonight. At least the ones Raina was throwing my way were novel. </p>
<p>Recently I’d pissed off a skinwalker and, true to her word, every night she performed a sending, pushing her way into my nightmares. It was strong magic, and no psychic had been able to tell me how to block it. The only peace I had was the occasional vision of Jeanette lavishing attention on whatever woman she’d dragged to her bed. </p>
<p>At this point, I wasn’t sure which I preferred waking to, breathless fear or aching arousal. </p>
<p>My feet pounded the icy lawn, and the cold flayed the inside of my lungs as I pushed myself harder, faster, trying to put a few yards between me and the hulking black shape loping along behind me. It panted, chuffing out a laugh as the grass bit deep into my heels. Each blade was steely, with serrated edges, slashes of fire along my frozen skin. I was leaving smears on the lawn, sliding every few feet, barely dodging the swipe of the thing’s claws. </p>
<p>She was toying with me, and there was no way I could stop her. I ran, nude but for a few bangles around my wrists and ankles, that sounded like a claxon in the still air. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pry them loose.</p>
<p>A dilapidated Dutch colonial stood at the top of the hill, and I hesitated in its shadow. Raina only left me a few options in these dreams, and none of them had happy ends. I could run toward the fog-draped beechwood forest at the back of the house, catch my ankle on the gnarled root of a tree and go down hard, knocking my teeth loose, helpless to stop her as she went for my throat. </p>
<p>I could circle around the house and find a footpath that would eventually spill me out into an all-but-abandoned Benton High football field. Clayton would be waiting for me there, lurking beneath the bleachers. He dragged me down, and there was no escape this time. Just his meaty hands on me, his hot breath in my ear, and the glowing, watchful eyes of the skinwalker just out of sight as Clayton finished what he’d started all those years ago. I’d never taken the footpath again.</p>
<p>Which left the house, with its narrow halls and endless doors, and the horrible compulsion to open them. I never knew what memory lurked behind them until I stepped through. Raina didn’t hurt me in the house, because my own tortured psyche did it for her. </p>
<p>House or forest? </p>
<p>Ultimately, Raina decided for me, plowing into me, sending me careening forward, catching myself at the base of the stairs. And from there, it was over. The compulsion gripped me and I mounted the steps, pushed the front door open, and stepped through.</p>
<p>I was thrust into a hall that seemed to stretch to infinity. The corridor was so narrow I could barely squeeze myself through, and every so often, the walls would draw in tighter, crushing me on both sides. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t draw in the air for even a whimper. I groped along the wall, searching for a knob, any knob. Anything to escape the vise-like walls. </p>
<p>I found the steel push bar of a glass door and hurled my weight against it. It swung inward with a whisper of sound and I went tumbling inside. </p>
<p>The carpet was thick, absorbing most of the impact. A parade of dress shoes and high heels marched past me, oblivious to my sudden appearance. And why should they? This was just a memory told from a new perspective. I climbed shakily to my feet, using the wooden pew back for support. </p>
<p>I knew this place. Knew it, and knew with every fiber of my being that I’d never wanted to relive it. I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the dark wood casket with its blanket of roses. It was wrong. Mommy never liked long-stemmed pink roses. She liked night-blooming flowers, like wisteria, gardenias, evening primrose, and night phlox. </p>
<p>Mommy was in the box, and no one would let me see her. I’d reached for the latches, trying to push the lid up to see Mommy, and had been snatched away by Aunt Mattie. I was glad I hadn’t managed to take a peek. What I’d learned later had been horror enough. </p>
<p>Everyone was crying, sniffling, or curled over in grief. Everyone, except the shell-shocked little girl, squirming in her aunt’s arms. She was screaming, trying to kick her way free. She wanted Mommy. Mommy made everything better. </p>
<p>I drifted toward another door, this time of unvarnished wood, catching the little girl’s eye for a split second. </p>
<p>“My mommy is dead,” she whispered. </p>
<p>She didn’t know what it meant. She wouldn’t totally understand it for another year or more. It was enough to know that everyone was sad, and Mommy was hiding in a box, and I’d never see her again.</p>
<p>“I know,” I whispered, ducking through the next door. </p>
<p>The unvarnished door dumped me into an old hunting cabin. RPIT had found two of Valentine’s victims in pieces. A pair of brothers, six and eight. They’d been missing for four days before we stumbled onto the scene, and by then critters had come in to scavenge the choicest parts. The mother mistook me for a police officer and screamed at me for letting her babies die. I hadn’t corrected her. It was my fault. I had to be better, smarter, faster. I’d failed them. Failed her. She’d slapped me, and I hadn’t brought her up on charges. </p>
<p>I pelted out the cabin’s back door, emerging into a cornfield, watching as Andria ground suggestively against Dalton, beer sloshing out of her red Solo cup. I watched, seething when she kissed him. She did this on purpose. Any time I was remotely interested in someone, Andria was there, snatching them right out from under me. After years of it, I’d learned not to try. </p>
<p>And it went on. It was the world’s shittiest game of Wheel of Fortune, stumbling from one room into the next, hoping for the petty embarrassments and jealousies over the nightmarish things I’d witnessed in my life. </p>
<p>When I threw myself at a gilded door, I stumbled into the darkened interior of a bed chamber. I knew, instinctively, that this was not my trauma, not my life, and it beat down the urge to scream. I watched as a familiar slender shape slunk toward the ornate bed that dominated the room. Red and blue velvet swags hung from a canopy, half obscuring the shrunken figure on the bed. I crept closer, half-expecting to be seen when I stepped into a shaft of moonlight. But the woman on the bed didn’t stir, and the dark-haired woman in the maid’s costume didn’t turn to see who’d invaded this private chamber. </p>
<p>The woman in the bed had thin, snowy hair. Her face was lined, even at rest, age spots hiding in the folds of her skin. And looming over her was, Jeanette. She looked younger, somehow, though physically nothing had changed. She folded herself onto the bed, prodding the elderly woman from her sleep. </p>
<p>“Get up, you vicious old hag,” Jeanette hissed. </p>
<p>The woman sputtered to life, eyes popping open wide, fixing on Jeanette with a look of abject terror. The woman’s lips parted, and she sucked in air for a shriek. </p>
<p>Jeanette’s hand lashed out, faster than the human eye could track, and wrapped steely fingers around the older woman’s throat. She pressed her thumb firmly into her voice box, digging the nails of her fingers into the sides of the woman’s throat. Blood ran from the crescent-shaped indents. The woman wheezed, and her frail hands clawed at Jeanette, trying in vain to loosen her hold.</p>
<p>“Hello, Symonne.” Jeanette’s whisper was deadly soft. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?” </p>
<p>She gave the woman a slow, predatory smile, moonlight gleaming off her fangs. She laughed softly when the woman managed a small squeak.</p>
<p>“Forty years and look at you now. A miserable old crone. It seems your outsides finally match your insides.” </p>
<p>Symonne rallied all her strength, straining against Jeanette, and it still wasn’t enough to break the vampire’s stranglehold. Jeanette leaned over Symonne, tone conspiratorial like they were sharing a delightful secret. </p>
<p>“It’s clear you remember me, so let’s try a more laborious task. Do you remember my children’s nursemaid, Marion?” </p>
<p>Symonne went very still at that, and Jeanette's laugh turned bitter. </p>
<p>“Oh yes, I imagine you thought about that night for years to come. So did she. She sent for me on her deathbed and confessed the terrible sin of greed. You paid her a hefty sum to leave that night, didn’t you? She didn’t know what you planned to do, of course. I let her go to the grave festering with sickness. I won’t be as kind to you.”</p>
<p>Symonne’s bony fingers groped along the bedsheets, scrambled to grip something beneath the pillow. She came up gripping a crucifix. It burst into brilliant light the second it hit open air and drove Jeanette back a step. Symonne lunged, pressing the crucifix into the line of cleavage above Jeanette’s dress. Her skin sizzled upon contact.</p>
<p>Jeanette’s eyes bled to midnight fire. Her lips pulled away from her teeth and she let out a savage snarl.</p>
<p>“You smother my children and you <i>dare</i> raise a cross against <i>me</i>?” </p>
<p>Jeanette batted the crucifix away, and the fragile bones in Symonne’s wrist broke. The crucifix tumbled to the ground, and Jeanette lunged for her throat. I tore my eyes away from what came next. But I still heard it. Hideous snaps, one muffled scream, and furious thrashing. Above it all, Jeanette’s snarls of; “Murderer!” </p>
<p>All the while, the cross burned white, heat radiating off it, so close and so hot that my chest burned. </p>
<p>My eyes snapped open. My chest <i>was</i> burning. I fumbled for the front of my overlarge t-shirt and spilled the cross into the open air, just in time to see a face leaning over me. </p>
<p>If you could even call it a face. It had an oval shape, and shallow, fleshy indents where eyes and a mouth should be, pointed ears on either side, and gray hair piled on top of the slick gelatinous dome that made up the head. Then its lipless mouth parted, exposing tiny, needle-like teeth. It’s breath rolled over me, as putrid as a three-day-old summer corpse. </p>
<p>It reared back from the light of my cross, bits of its skin sloughing off onto the duvet. I snatched the Browning from the bedside table, whirled to face the monster, flicked the safety off, and pulled the trigger.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The shot punched a hole through the blue damask wallpaper on the far side of the room, missing my target completely. I prayed to God there wasn’t an occupant in the next room.</p>
<p>In the time it took to blink, the gelatinous, faceless thing had scurried back the way it had come, leaving a glistening snail trail behind. </p>
<p>I stared at the place where it disappeared, sweat gleaming on every inch of bared skin, seeping into my hair, running between my breasts. It felt like someone had shoved me into the deep freeze overnight. My heart should have been hammering. Instead, it thumped sluggishly, each beat stretched painfully. I felt stupid and slow, like every inch of me was thickening and sloughing off. </p>
<p>It took genuine effort to swing my legs over the side of my bed. My knees wobbled when I tried to stand. My head was foggy, my face stiff like someone had coated it in plaster. It wasn’t a wonder I’d missed whatever the thing was. I could barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone aim worth a damn. </p>
<p>Verity and Malacia were still in their beds, which meant dawn had come sometime while I was sleeping. I’d set an alarm for noon so the mostly human members of our little band could view the bodies at the Kinford County Morgue. It hadn’t gone off, and the jelly-like thing looming over me looked slug-like, and slugs preferred the dark and damp. I was betting it was only a little after sunrise. The blackout curtains and patented collapsible steel shutters the twins had brought for the journey made this room an ideal hunting ground for a night-faring creature. </p>
<p>Of course, it was just a guess. Maybe the thing did just peachy in sunlight. Only one way to find out.</p>
<p>Some of the lethargy wore off as I staggered out the door. I forced myself to move, holding the gun parallel to my leg, not trusting myself to aim properly. I’d fire when I could see the whites of its... well, until I saw it’s flat, eerie face. </p>
<p>I’d barely cleared the doorway when two dark shapes spilled out the door across the hall, both large and imposing in the hall's dimness. I almost raised my shaking hand to fire when a familiar voice exclaimed; </p>
<p>“What the hell is going on, Blake?” </p>
<p>Tension flooded out of me. “Edw... Bobby. Thank God.” </p>
<p>“I repeat, what the hell is going on?” </p>
<p>“My cross woke me. Something was in our room, Edward. It was fast, sort of gelatinous, and faceless. It was leaning over me, and it opened its mouth and...” </p>
<p>I trailed off, realizing how nonsensical this sounded. A faceless jelly-monster that loomed over me as I came out of a series of fresh night terrors. Yeah, that was going to go over well with the local police. It wouldn’t take much digging to find out I’d had a suspected sleep disorder. Any sane person would probably chalk it up to an episode of sleep paralysis and confiscate my gun.</p>
<p>And maybe they were right. Was I finally cracking up? Jumping at shadows and inventing monsters where there were none? This place gave me the creeps, and between the oppressive atmosphere and Raina’s sendings, I could have imagined it. </p>
<p>No. My cross had woken me from a dead sleep. Crosses didn’t light up for shits and giggles. Something malevolent had been in that room, actively working to do...what?  That was the question, wasn’t it?</p>
<p>“I saw it,” I insisted. </p>
<p>“Anita, are you sure-?” Edward began.</p>
<p>“Of course I’m sure!” I hissed. Raised voices filtered up the stairs, and in just a few minutes we’d be swamped with the frightened day staff. “Crosses don’t glow on their own.” </p>
<p>“She’s telling the truth,” Otto said. </p>
<p>I turned to stare at him, surprised by his willingness to back me. I’d been sure he’d be the hardest to convince. It’d been clear from our limited interactions he thought little of women in general and even less of me. I wasn’t sure what I’d done to earn his contempt, but he’d been heaping plenty of it onto my plate. </p>
<p>“Your spidey-senses tell you that?” I asked. </p>
<p>Otto’s hand shot out, seizing my gun arm, locking around my hand like an iron manacle. His fingers flexed very briefly like he’d thought about shattering the delicate bones in my wrist. Then his grip slackened. The copious amount of sweat dewing on my skin allowed me to wrench free with minimal effort. He could have held me if he’d been determined. I was human. He wasn’t.</p>
<p>Edward flicked a flashlight on and turned the beam on us, catching the moment Otto released me. I caught a brief glimpse of Otto’s burgundy robe hanging open over an admittedly impressive chest before Edward rounded on the giant of a man, scowling. </p>
<p>“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” </p>
<p>“Making a point.” Otto held up a hand, and something gray and tacky showed against his palm. “This is not sweat.” </p>
<p>I handed my Browning off to Edward, who took it gingerly, keeping it aimed at the ground. The voices were growing louder, and a pair of booted feet pounded up the creaky wooden staircase. We had less than a minute before someone came to see what had happened. We needed a story before then. </p>
<p>Heart still plodding slowly in my chest, I dabbed gingerly at a rivulet of what I’d thought was sweat. I came away with something roughly the consistency of snot. It was drying rapidly, forming a thick, semi-smooth crust on my skin, like drying wax. </p>
<p>No, <i>exactly</i> like wax. </p>
<p>“It isn’t a pathogen causing the rapid formation of adipocere,” I whispered. </p>
<p>“Indeed,” Otto said, just as quietly. “The question is, what attacked the woman?” </p>
<p>While it pissed me the hell off he was talking about me in the third person, it <i>was</i> a legitimate question. What the hell had that thing been? It didn’t fit with anything I’d ever learned about in my mythology courses. Had we just stepped into the stomping grounds of something new, vengeful, and hungry? </p>
<p>“Otto, give Anita your robe.” </p>
<p>“Why?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, why?” I asked, frowning at him. </p>
<p>“You’re not going to have time to sponge all that off before the authorities arrive. Wash your hands, neck, and face. So far as anyone else is concerned, your gun misfired. Repeat nothing we just said to the police.” </p>
<p>“Why?” I repeated, still not getting it. Shouldn’t they know something was stalking their town, stalking innocent (and not-so-innocent) people in the dark?</p>
<p>“We need to be sure,” Edward said, eyes flicking impatiently toward the stairs. “Right now we only have slime and your word that you saw something. I’d like to know what we’re dealing with before we drag the normies in.” </p>
<p>Put that way, it was hard to disagree. The people of Lockridge were probably anxious enough. They’d been quarantined for weeks, which had to take its toll. Reporting the alleged monster would be like throwing a match into a powder keg. People would panic. Panicked people did stupid shit. </p>
<p>“Misfire. Got it.” </p>
<p>I held out a hand to Otto. He grimaced but shrugged the robe off without any back sass. It left him in a pair of navy boxers and matching navy socks. </p>
<p>I busied myself donning and tying the robe in an effort not to look. I really tried. Honest. But it was hard not to speculate how much gym time he put in to maintain his incredible muscle tone. He caught me looking and smirked.</p>
<p>That superior expression doused any aesthetic appreciation I might have had for his body. Washboard abs and rippling pectorals didn’t change the fact he was a pompous, sexist, homophobic ass. Pretty faces just didn’t do it for me. There needed to be some sort of substance beneath, and something told me I didn’t want to peel back Otto’s sinister facade to see what lay beneath. </p>
<p>I ducked into the bedroom just as a tall, spare man in a flannel shirt rounded the corner. If I strained, I could hear Edward’s jovial greeting. The sound cut off when I shut myself in the bathroom. </p>
<p>The bathroom was just large enough for a clawfoot tub, a small, low-to-the-ground toilet, and a pedestal sink. The stuff was tough to scrape off, even with the emergency bar of lava soap I kept in my animating and hunting kits. By the time I was through, my face and hands were raw, which actually worked to my advantage in this case. Ordinarily, it took a lot to bring color into my cheeks. I was like dad that way. Skin like skim milk that burned at the slightest provocation and then went right back to being pale. With my stinging cheeks, it wouldn’t be hard to fake shame in front of the cops. </p>
<p>I glowered at my reflection, determination glinting in my eyes. Whatever had tried to turn me into an Ivory soap bar was going to pay. It didn’t matter what the thing was or where it had come from. Nothing was ever truly unkillable. </p>
<p>I was the Executioner, and this thing had just signed its own death warrant.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh, and I almost forgot this! I found it funny, and I hope you guys do too. </p>
<p>I have a friend who has never read AB but has heard stuff secondhand from me. With a lot of the developments in later books, she's pretty horrified but in parts, she's just amused. When I said there was a serial killer named Olaf fetishizing Anita, she burst out laughing because she associates Olaf with the movie Frozen. So in the tradition of Frozen parody songs like "Do you Want to Hide a Body?" she made a serial killer Olaf rendition of "In Summer." I thought I'd share before I forgot it again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anita: Really? I'm guessing you don't have much experience with heat</p>
<p>Olaf: Nope! But sometimes I like to close my eyes<br/>And imagine what it'll be like when summer does come</p>
<p>Bees'll buzz, kids'll blow dandelion fuzz<br/>And I’ll be satiating my bloodlust, in summer</p>
<p>A knife in my hand, my snow up against the burning sand<br/>Killing everybody I can, in summer</p>
<p>I’ll finally see a summer rain wash away the blood and gore<br/>And find out what happens to dying flesh when it gets warm!<br/>And I can't wait to see, what my buddies all think of me<br/>Just imagine how much cooler I'll be in summer</p>
<p>(Scatting)</p>
<p>The hot and the cold are both so intense<br/>Put 'em together it just makes sense!</p>
<p>(Scatting)</p>
<p>Winter's a good time to stay in and play chess<br/>But put me in summer and I'll be a — homicidal maniac!</p>
<p>When life gets rough, I like to hold on to my dream<br/>Of stabbing in the summer sun, just lettin' off steam</p>
<p>Oh the sky would be blue, and the corpses will be there too<br/>When I finally do what frozen things do in summer</p>
<p>Anita: I'm gonna tell him.</p>
<p>Edward: Don't you dare!</p>
<p>Olaf: In summer!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was mid-morning by the time Kinford County’s finest were through questioning us. I’d gotten a very patronizing lecture about gun safety from the first officer on the scene and was let loose after an examination of my room and sidearm. Somehow Edward had framed the scene perfectly by the time the authorities arrived. Don’t ask me when he’d found the time to do it. </p><p>I’d choked down a piece of cinnamon toast and a glass of orange juice at Edward’s insistence. My stomach woke up hours after the rest of me, and if I’d had a poor night’s sleep, eating anything the next day sounded like a chore. It’d been like this from the beginning, and it’d been a cause of concern for pretty much everyone in my life at some point. For an entire year, Judith had foisted bacon and eggs on me before school, until even the smell had been enough to make me gag. And even though I’d eventually gotten over the aversion, just the word breakfast usually made my stomach roll. </p><p>I ate the damn toast because this wasn’t about what I wanted. It was about safety for everyone involved. There was no telling what the slug-monster had taken from me, and until I knew what it was, I couldn’t be running on fumes. If things were too dire, I’d unconsciously siphon energy off Jeanette. She’d have to feed more often, and I wasn’t in the mood to feel her bloodlust. Or any other kind of lust for that matter. </p><p>We were on our way to the Kinford County morgue in Presdale, about fifteen minutes up the road from Lockridge. Otto had claimed the passenger’s seat again, and I was shoved into the back like an overgrown child being ferried to weekend visitation. I couldn’t summon enough energy to be angry about it. I was too relieved to be out of Lockridge. Passing the city limits was like sucking clean air, finally able to surface from the cold and pressure that drowned the entire place. </p><p>“Where’s Harley?” I asked, leaning my head against the window. The cool glass felt incredible against my stinging skin. </p><p>I felt bad leaving him in Lockridge, suffering whatever whammy the slug-monster was laying on the town all by his lonesome. Though I hadn’t known him long, Harley was a part of the team. Leaving him without backup seemed wrong.</p><p>“Sniffing out a lead,” Edward said, adjusting the mirror so he could get a better look at my face. “He thinks we’re on to something. Whatever this thing is, it’s also doing a number on his sight, so he’s running a fine-toothed comb through the city to see what he can turn up.”</p><p> I wanted to snap at him to keep his eyes on the road. My mother had died taking a sharp turn on the narrow, icy road out of town. And just a handful of weeks ago, I’d almost met the same fate. Mr. Oliver upended the slab of asphalt our getaway van had been sitting on. I’d been critically injured. A friend of mine had been thrown through the windshield, just like my mother. Edward was driving at a snail’s pace, but it didn’t stop acid from clawing its way up my throat. </p><p>I screwed my eyes shut and tried to catch a few minutes of sleep. My stomach continued its uneasy barrel roll, determined to bring up breakfast one way or another. </p><p>And I must have succeeded because I woke to Edward giving my shoulder a light shove. </p><p>“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. We’ve got work to do.” He inspected my face. “Are you going to be able to handle this, Anita? We can- “</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” I snapped. “Let’s go.” </p><p>Edward’s newfound paternal concern was pissing me off. If he thought the act was going to work on me, he didn’t know me as well as I’d thought. </p><p>The pair of uniforms waiting just inside the doors weren’t the ones who investigated the alleged misfire. From what I could gather, the police force was even smaller than the one I’d grown up with. At least the neighboring town had sixteen regular officers to police Benton and Stillwater, and a few police detectives to investigate the occasional robbery or homicide. Kinford County had eight officers to police three cities. I was beginning to understand why they’d welcomed the Feds with open arms. In just a few short hours, I’d met half the Force. </p><p>The man was around my height and heavy-set, a beer gut protruding over his well-worn duty belt. His widow’s peak had performed a full-retreat, exposing a shiny half-circle of skin and a strawberry birthmark just above his forehead. He was glaring at us, blue eyes narrowed like he was expecting us to comment on it. </p><p>The female officer was black and easily a head taller than her boss. She was slender, with modest curves, and a nice, rounded face. She’d bound her curls back into a tail to keep it out of the way. </p><p>She scanned the pair of men nervously before locking eyes with me. She offered me a hopeful smile, and despite the fatigue, I returned it. No matter how far we’d come, police departments were still sausage fests. I’d been to crime scenes where the only female in the vicinity was the victim. </p><p>“Howdy, Sherriff,” Edward greeted, reaching up like he’d touch the brim of an imaginary hat. “I’d like you to meet my consultants. This here is Otto Jeffries. He’s a former FBI profiler, and just behind me is Anita Blake, one of the state-licensed executioners for Missouri, and the third most powerful animator on record. Anita, Otto, meet Sheriff Ian Baxter, and this is Deputy Janessa Merrill.” </p><p>“Nice to meet you,” I said, turning the friendly smile on Sheriff Baxter. He didn’t smile back. If anything, he squinted harder than before, turning the full intensity of the stare on me. </p><p>“I told you we don’t need a witch in here, Agent.” </p><p>Great. This song and dance again. </p><p>“I’m not a witch, Sheriff,” I said, and my smile went a little brittle at the edges. “I’m an animator. There’s a difference.” </p><p>“We don’t need hoodoo,” he said. “We need those counterterrorism experts you promised.”</p><p>He spat a stream of tobacco juice into the bottle he held loosely in one hand. I fought not to gag. I didn’t like tobacco in general, but I could see why some people took up smoking. Chew? That was something I’d never understand. Sheriff Baxter continued, ignoring the first hints of true nausea that showed in my face. He jabbed a stubby finger in my direction.</p><p>“Why don’t you just turn around and go home, missy? You’re not needed here.” </p><p>“Oh, Ian, don’t say that,” Janessa chided. “We called these people for help. Just let them through to see daddy… I mean, Dr. Merrill.”</p><p>Edward cleared his throat. “Your deputy is right. Your department invited us in, so it’s my decision who I bring in to consult on this case. Anita and I have worked together in the past. She’s very good at what she does.” </p><p>“It’s not safe,” Sheriff Baxter said, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. “I remember the debacle in Tulsa. Those flesh-eaters killed seventeen people. I won’t have zombies running amok in this county, Ms. Blake.” </p><p>I kept smiling but knew it didn’t touch my eyes. I was tired, nauseous, and done with this ignorant crap. When I spoke, the words came out in the sweet-as-syrup tone I only used when really pissed.</p><p>“And if you’d paid a lick of attention, Sheriff, you’d be blaming Summer Fox for that debacle, not the animator. Anyone selling their psychic abilities has to have a license and be insured. Insurance agencies require extreme documentation. Family history, religion, reason for raising. On and on ad nauseam. If someone has even one red flag in their history, animators won’t raise them. Period. But until Summer pulled her stunt, we had no idea that performing magic on a carcass could cause a botched raising.” </p><p>“So you admit that there’s a risk?” he pressed.</p><p>“There’s an element of risk in everything, Sheriff. Do you expect me to walk all winter because there’s a risk that my car could skid on the ice? Or refuse to eat because there’s a chance I <i>might</i> get food poisoning? Or- “</p><p>“I get it!” Baxter snapped. “But’s not the same thing, and you know it. We don’t know what killed these people. They could rise as flesh-eaters.” </p><p>He had a point. If Summer and her people had been spontaneously mummified by whatever attacked me in the hotel room, their corpses might be unsuitable for raising. But if I refused, where did that leave us? Right where we’d started. Edward was counting on me to find answers. If I couldn’t animate, I might as well follow the Sheriff’s orders and fly back home. </p><p>I drew back my jacket to reveal the Browning. Both officers eyed me warily like I might turn this into an Old West gunfight. </p><p>“I have my 9mm within easy reach and more weaponry in my vampire hunting kit.” I lifted the long duffel I’d brought along for their inspection. “Edward has a kit as well. I plan to raise these people one at a time. I think between the five of us, we’ll be able to handle one flesh-eater. Turn it into mincemeat, drag it outside, and light the remains on fire. Easy.” </p><p>“Nothing up to this point has been easy,” he muttered, but he stepped aside to let Edward pass. “Why should things be any different now?” </p><p>“A-fucking-men,” I muttered under by breath, stepping inside after Edward and Otto, wincing when the heavy metal door slammed shut behind me, caging us into the cold, sterile halls of the morgue. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't want to go on about it too much but I'll occasionally highlight Anita's eating habits. They're pretty dismal in canon, even though it's been established since book twelve (Incubus Dreams) that she needs to nourish her physical body to keep the other hungers from spiraling out of control. She almost never eats of her own volition and even fifteen books later in Sucker Punch, she has to be bullied into eating a protein bar and drinking a sports drink. </p><p>I'd take literally any explanation for this. If LKH wants to make Anita have trouble eating there's a ton of options. Give her the above explanation that she doesn't wake up hungry. Say she has stomach trouble. Say she has disordered eating habits or bad body image because of being chubby in middle school (or grade school, I wasn't sure which she says in canon.) And if it is the latter, really show her trying to get over it instead of being magically cured by "therapy." </p><p>I think it's really important for authors who are writing this stuff should at least mention in passing that their characters eat. It isn't a phenomenon limited solely to Hamilton, believe me. I notice it everywhere. In my head, I've labeled it the "sexy girls don't eat" trope. I think we generally assume people do normal stuff (eat, sleep, go to the bathroom) unless it's pointed out to us that they specifically don't. And in AB, it is. A lot. Anita has always had a problem with eating as far as I can remember in the text. In GP, she is miffed she's so hungry and eating so much while JC saps her energy. In Burnt Offerings she bitches at JC for taking her out and making her eat, saying she's gained five pounds. Which, given her insane workout schedule should come off easily. </p><p>Maybe I'm just being sensitive. As someone who had an eating disorder for years, it hits a different chord with me. I still have disordered thoughts, unhealthy attitudes toward eating, and what my body should look like. But I'm going to make a conscious effort in both my fanfics and original work to highlight characters eating, having a good time doing it, not being super classically thin, etc. </p><p>I think it's irresponsible to say, like Hamilton has, that there's only one way a woman should look (ie, exactly like Anita, who's tastefully thin except for her enormous tatas.) See the "girls under a certain weight are no longer women but boys with breasts" comment that came up in the series. I support being within a healthy weight, whatever that means for the individual. There's a lot of exercise and fat-shaming in these books too. (See Crystal from the freak party in GP.)  I think it's okay to describe someone as out of shape or even fat, but don't go on about it in the narrative, about how gross it is or how it makes the person lazy. That's just tasteless. Treat it as apart of their appearance and move on. I know I'm prone to fetishize uber thin people because it's what I wanted for myself, even when it was wrong and unhealthy for my body. </p><p>The thing that gets me about Anita is that she knows that not eating will hurt her people. She's bullied by Damian in Bullet to eat a few damn strawberries and a croissant to help an injured Nathaniel. She whines about it. She knows she can kill people by refusing to take care of herself, and she doesn't do it. That's my big gripe with Anita. It comes off as really selfish and just an excuse to <i>have</i> to sex up the person that Hamilton wants Anita with.</p><p>That is all. Sorry for my lengthy ramble.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Kinford County Morgue was only equipped to deal with a dozen deaths at a time. Two of the refrigerated units were already occupied, which meant only ten of Summer’s people could be kept in the morgue proper. The remaining twenty had been placed on gurneys and wheeled into a refrigerated truck until their remains could be identified and released to their families. </p>
<p>Sheriff Baxter came to a stop by a table in the middle of the hall and lifted a bright yellow HAZMAT suit up to the light. A handful more were draped over the table’s surface, along with a box of surgical gloves, and a red biohazard waste disposal container. </p>
<p>“Daddy says you’ll need these before you go any further,” Janessa said sheepishly as the Sheriff handed the first to Edward. “We can’t rule out the possibility of contamination yet.” </p>
<p>I exchanged a brief look with Edward. I was pretty sure we <i>could</i> eliminate any doubt if I submitted my body as Exhibit A. Without someone to reach my back, hadn’t been able to scrub every bit of the waxy stuff off in the shower. I could feel it still clinging in patches. So far the wax hadn’t spread or enveloped me. If I had to guess, the slug-monster operated like a web-spinning spider, holding their prey immobile before they fed. </p>
<p>“I’m sure the good doctor knows best,” Edward said and began shrugging on his protective suit. </p>
<p>Sheriff Baxter handed another to me, glowering like he expected me to refuse. I took it from him and pulled the crinkling material on, though only part of my concentration was focused on suiting up. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was. The thing was a predator, and it used corpse wax to bind its victims as it took...what? Aside from the initial bradycardia and some lingering fatigue, I hadn’t noticed anything off. Hell, the exhaustion might be completely unrelated. It wasn’t as if I had a stellar sleep schedule, I’d barely eaten, and the unrelenting psychic pressure had taken its toll as well. </p>
<p>I was still mulling it over when Sheriff Baxter waved us through. Janessa took the lead, while the Sheriff took up a position behind me. </p>
<p>By the time we trooped into the exam room, the mortician in a HAZMAT suit was hoisting a heavy black body bag from the slab and lowering it onto a steel gurney. The rasp of the zipper sounded too loud in the cool silence of the room, grating along my nerves like the serrated blade. </p>
<p>Dr. Merrill was taller than Edward by a handful of inches, which probably put him at six feet. His hair was nearly gone, and what clung to the sides of his head was going gray. I had to assume that Janessa took after her mother because the only resemblance to Dr. Merrill I could see was in the firm set of her chin. </p>
<p>He barely glanced up at us when we entered the room, busying himself with the corpse. In just a few seconds, he had the bag pushed to the sides of the body. It crinkled like a candy wrapper, exposing the lumpy shape inside. That was one treat you never wanted to find in your lunchbox.</p>
<p>Dr. Merrill unloaded another body, pulling back the fabric of the body bag as well, and finally motioned for us to crowd in beside the gurneys. The first mummy matched the photo Edward had shown me. Summer Fox looked no less horrifying up close. If anything, the sharp scent of ammonia wafting up the bodies made things worse. And if this was what I smelled through my face mask and suit, I could only imagine how much worse it had been for the unwary hiker who’d found the bodies. </p>
<p>Up-close the greasy film looked like pork gristle. I almost reached a hand out to touch the body, curious to see if it felt as vile as it looked. I should still be able to feel something through the gloves, right? Would it be tacky, like the stuff that slicked my body this morning? Or would it feel like hardened candle wax after being laid out in the deep freeze? </p>
<p>A dark coil of braided hair looped around her throat like a choker, thrown carelessly across the front of her body while they had loaded her into the bag. Her eyes were a pair of gaping black sockets, her mouth open in an agonized scream she’d never give voice to. Now that I was closer, I could spy the art for the Smiths’ Meat is Murder album on Summer’s t-shirt, peeking through the bits where the adipocere had been thinnest. It must have chipped off during transport or been carefully harvested for examination. </p>
<p>“Summer Fox,” he announced grimly. “The lady of the hour.” </p>
<p>Edward peered at the corpse laid out on the second gurney. I joined him, too spooked to join Otto and Dr. Merrill beside Summer’s body. Otto was running his hands through the air above the body, a look of intense, almost fevered interest on his face. Every so often his gaze would scour Summer’s wax-laden body, with the head-to-toe appreciation the quarterback gives the head cheerleader. I had to fight to keep breakfast down when he ran his hands along Summer’s waxy skin. That look was all sex. </p>
<p>“And this is one of eight Jane Does. We could identify twelve of the bodies, and that left us with ten men and eight women unclaimed. This one was young. At least seventeen, but no older than twenty-four.”  </p>
<p>“How do you figure that, Doc?” Edward asked, idly brushing off a barely connected piece of wax that clung to the figure’s patched blue jeans.</p>
<p>“Certain bones don’t fuse until you’re an adult,” I explained before the mortician could offer a reply. “The tibia stops growing at around sixteen or seventeen in girls. The clavicle is the last bone to complete its growth, usually around twenty-five.”</p>
<p>I leaned closer to our Jane Doe. There was something familiar about the body, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what. Bits of gingery hair stuck up from the wax, but there was too much gunk on the face to match a name to her face.</p>
<p>Dr. Merrill gave me an approving nod. “I had no idea you’d gone to medical school, Agent.” </p>
<p>“Consultant, and no, I’m a preternatural biology major, not a doctor. I thought about med school, though. My dad’s a veterinarian, and my step-sister is wrapping up an undergraduate degree in the same field.” </p>
<p>“She’s also our animator,” Edward said, gesturing for the doctor to back up. “I’d give her some room. Things could get hairy.” </p>
<p>Edward scooted around me, and Otto followed suit, crashing into me deliberately as he passed. It knocked me forward and almost shoved me face-first into the glistening, piss-smelling skin of the unfortunate young woman. I rolled, and my face shield came to a quivering halt just before one of the exposed limbs. A quarter of the right thigh was wax-free, with denim showing through. A heart-shaped patch read “Rachel is Rad” in delicately hand-stitched letters.</p>
<p>Oh God, oh God, oh God. I <i>knew</i> this girl. I was betting I’d known a few of the others too.</p>
<p>I turned from Rachel’s corpse and retched, using the end of Summer’s gurney to keep myself upright. I couldn’t suck in a deep breath. The ammonia scent was abruptly too much. This place reeked. </p>
<p>“Anita?” Edward asked, alarmed. </p>
<p>“Rachel Cook,” I whispered. “Her name is Rachel Cook.” </p>
<p>“You know her?” </p>
<p>I nodded, breathing in slowly through my mouth until I was sure I wouldn’t fill the hood of my HAZMAT suit with the remains of my breakfast.</p>
<p>“I saw her almost every day for months. She was a part of one of the animal rights activist groups who’ve been picketing Animators Inc. Bert learned all their names, eventually. She idolized Summer, so I guess it’s not a surprise she fell in with her after she broke out of prison.” </p>
<p>It also explained why animal rights activists had been no-shows for so long. We’d all foolishly hoped they’d gotten tired and gone home. </p>
<p>Edward frowned. “Does that have any significance, Anita? It’s great you can identify them, but how does it help the case?” </p>
<p>The hell if I knew, but it had to mean something, didn’t it? They’d picketed Animators Inc. and now they were dead, covered in corpse wax. Was it possible that they’d come up to Minnesota and pissed off a rogue animator? Possibly, but I didn’t think so. I’d faced patchworks of dead flesh before. I’d made them.  The slug-monster in the hotel room hadn’t felt like an animator’s work. But if not an animator, then what?</p>
<p>“Commonalities,” Otto said, and his rumbling voice cut through the ringing in my ears. </p>
<p>I glanced up to find him pacing toward me, giving Rachel’s body the same thorough once over he’d given Summer. His expression was detached, almost bored, while he examined her. Had I imagined his fascination with Summer’s body? Was it Summer’s pathology that drew him? A professional profiler’s interest in a unique case? </p>
<p>Maybe he just preferred brunettes.</p>
<p>“Commonalities?” I asked, voice still thick with nausea. I couldn’t throw up. I wouldn’t. I forced myself to swallow a few times before I straightened out of my hunched position. </p>
<p>Otto gave one curt nod. “The police have ruled out age as a common denominator. The files say this Jane Doe was the youngest. The oldest was a male in his early sixties. Race is also not a factor. Fifteen were Caucasian, seventeen were African-American, four were Native American, two were Korean, and one was Chinese. Gender was almost equally split. What do they have in common, besides being corpses?” </p>
<p>I wanted to shout at him. First, for being more prepared. I’d skimmed the files before takeoff and hadn’t had an opportunity to do more than glance at them since landing in Minnesota. And second, for sneering down at me like the professor who knew damn well you hadn’t studied for the quiz. Take too long, and he’d smirk and shake his head, writing me off just like he had in the beginning. </p>
<p>Staying silent wouldn’t harm my credibility half as much as saying something stupid. So I shut my mouth, trying to think through the stinking room. I tried not to think about the familiar seventeen-year-old girl rotting away on the gurney nearby. I closed my eyes and took a mental inventory of every news article, internet forum, or rumor that had floated across my social media feed for the last few weeks. </p>
<p>But ultimately, my mind kept rolling back to Rachel, and what little I knew about her. A seventeen-year-old environmental activist who picketed Animators In after school. She was an LGBT ally or a part of the community herself. She carried a backpack covered in pins. Mostly acronyms, PFLAG, SPCA, GLSEN, GLAAD, FLOE, HSUS. If it had a social justice or environmental cause and a jumble of letters on a pin, it found a place on her backpack. There was one pin that I hadn’t spotted until just before she’d gone missing. </p>
<p>PPGC. Parents of Psychically Gifted Children, a campaign to stop the ostracisation of psychic kids. It’d come years too late to stop the bullying I’d gone through in high school, though I wasn’t sure it would have mattered. Benton was still a town in backwater Missouri, with minimal funding and a mindset set back in the 1960s. </p>
<p>I smiled and opened my eyes at last. Otto blinked down at me, surprised by the expression. I was guessing people didn’t smile at him much. </p>
<p>“They’re psychically gifted. Or at least, someone thought they were. Did you find a backpack with her?” </p>
<p>I aimed the question at Dr. Merrill, who nodded. “I had to cut it off so she could lay right on the slab.” </p>
<p>My smile grew. “Rachel was into animal rights, but it wasn’t the only group she supported. She was also a part of LGBT and psychic rights activism. This wasn’t a chemical agent. These people were targeted because something around Lockridge eats magic. I’d wager that’s why entering the town feels like shit. There’s an imbalance. Whatever it is, it’s taking it from the bodies, from the ground, from the air. It’s like something died under the house. You can smell it, you know it’s there, but you can’t find it to make it go away.” </p>
<p>“So you’re saying we’re looking for some kind of monster sponge?” Sheriff Baxter asked. I didn’t look over at him, but the eye roll was implied in his tone. </p>
<p>“Not a sponge. A psychic vampire. I’ve never met one this powerful. I’ve never met one, period.”</p>
<p>“Psychic vampire?” Janessa asked. “So that’s a vampire with psychic abilities?” </p>
<p>“No. It’s a misleading term, and if we had more examples of their kind, we’d have a different name for them. But these people are so rare we only see one every few hundred years.” I took a step away from the gurneys. “I can’t raise these people.” </p>
<p>“Because they’re psychically gifted?” Edward asked. “I read the brochures. Animating psychics can cause flesh-eaters.” </p>
<p>“Because there’s nothing left, E...Bobby. They’re compared to vampires for a reason. They eat people. Not their blood. Their life essences, their memories, their fucking <i>souls</i> to extend their lives. Not every psychic vampire is like that, but a lot of them go bad. I don’t think I could raise these bodies if I tried. They’re gone.” </p>
<p>Nausea returned with a vengeance, as I realized just what that meant. If this thing had gotten its hands on me, there would have been nothing left. No afterlife. Just hideous blackness, the slow digestion of my very being, until that dissolved. A Sarlacc Pit of the soul. </p>
<p>“Say I believe you?” Sheriff Baxter asked. “How do we catch and kill them? How do you recognize one of these psychic vampires?” </p>
<p>“That’s the thing, Sheriff. You can’t tell.” I said, leaning against Summer’s gurney. I tried not to look and did, anyway. Only my cross had saved me from turning into just another mummy. </p>
<p>Something about this still didn’t feel right. No one had mentioned slime in all the accounts. But eating people’s energy to the point of death changed them mentally. Who was to say it wouldn’t make a physical change as well?</p>
<p>“What the hell are you talking about, Blake? There’s got to be a way!” the Sheriff snapped. </p>
<p>“There isn’t. Psychic vampires are people. Humans, with all the rights and protections that entails. You’ll have to catch them in an act of magical malfeasance before we can do much about it.” </p>
<p>“Thankfully, we have bait,” Otto said, and his eyes glittered with dark amusement as he stared down at me. “You will do nicely.” </p>
<p>“I’m not the only psychic,” I snapped. And then something else clicked. “Oh, God. I’m not the only psychic.” </p>
<p>Harley was still in Lockridge, blind to a predator that could lurk in any corner, the perfect prey for a hungry energy vampire. </p>
<p>Motherfucking son of a bitch.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Edward took every turn at twice the recommended speed, and by the time we reached Lockridge, I’d scored nail marks into the rental’s armrest. There’d been times I was sure we’d fishtail off the road and plow into one of the honey locust trees that ringed the town. If my back hadn’t been glued to the seat, I’d have shot him. </p>
<p>I understood why we were auditioning for a part in the next Fast and Furious movie, but it didn’t make me any happier about it. The police had taken an infuriatingly long time grasping what we were up against. Giving them a statement was made even more difficult by the lie we’d told this morning. Hard to convince them we were dealing with a life-sucking psychopath when I couldn’t reveal the dried and flaking evidence without being brought in for obstruction of justice. </p>
<p>The sun was slanting off the rooftops of Lockridge as we swerved into the hotel parking lot. Soon it would be full dark and the opportune time for our monster to strike. I was more convinced than ever that our culprit was nocturnal. Most psychic abilities peaked at certain points of the day. For animators, that was after sundown. And, like the bloodsuckers they shared half a name with, psychic vampires operated best after dark. </p>
<p>My back slammed into the seat as Edward threw the rental in park. The glare off one of the west-facing windows flashed orange light into our eyes, blinding us for a half-second. </p>
<p>“You’re sure about the psychic vampire?” </p>
<p>My labored attempts to breathe almost drowned Edward’s terse question. Otto had agreed to ride with Kinford County’s finest while Edward strapped a light to the top of the rental. We hadn’t braked since leaving Presdale’s city limits. </p>
<p>“No, I’m not sure. There are plenty of things that feed on magic, but they’re mostly benign. There used to be a strain of skin mites that could-“ </p>
<p>“Anita.” </p>
<p>“Right, sorry.” I paused, trying to calm my frantically beating heart. I wasn’t usually the sort to babble. “I’m not sure it’s a psychic vampire. The slime thing would be new, and cryptozoologists are discovering new species all the time. And sometimes existing creatures evolve to adapt to changing habitat or natural disasters. You wouldn’t believe what the Chernobyl Disaster did to <i>Nessiteras rhombopteryx</i>. But if working with RPIT has taught me anything, the simplest explanation is often the most likely.” </p>
<p>Edward looked thoughtful, though the tense set of his shoulders didn’t ease. </p>
<p>“Do you think it could be a bit of both? A psychic vampire...God, that’s gonna get old. We need another term.” </p>
<p>“Leech seems accurate. Slimy and parasitic.” </p>
<p>Edward nodded. “Do you think our leech evolved because of something recent? Say, a biochemical agent? The Feds are up in arms because there <i>were</i> chemicals and a few bomb parts found in the cabin. Who’s to say our garden variety magic leech didn’t mutate in response?” </p>
<p>I thought about it. It was as good an explanation as any, and I didn’t have a better theory. </p>
<p>“Maybe,” I conceded. “But talking it to death won’t help Harley.” </p>
<p>Edward nodded curtly and, without saying a word, unfastened his belt and ducked out of the car in one smooth move. I followed, albeit at a slower pace. My hands were still shaking, my head taking me forcibly back to the car crash that had almost killed me. The bone-deep terror of being thrown from a car, born that awful day my mother had died, would probably stick with me to the grave. And given my profession and the company I kept, that day would probably come sooner than I liked. </p>
<p>An elderly man with a shiny bald pate glanced up from a well-worn copy of <i>Tuck Everlasting</i> as we made a beeline for the stairs. </p>
<p>“Where’s the fire, son?” he said, offering us a small smile as we reached the steps. </p>
<p>“Federal business.” Edward’s voice was brusque, not at all in keeping with his usual gregarious alter ego. Then he paused. “Have you seen my consultant, by any chance? Harley keeps odd hours. He staggers in around noon and sleeps until sundown. He’s about yea tall with curly red hair.” </p>
<p>Edward indicated Harley’s height and watched the clerk’s face carefully. I scanned his expression too, looking for any tic that might give him away. An eye flick or a nervous twitch, or even just an awkward smile might give us a hint. When the man only appeared slightly puzzled, I eased the clenched metaphysical muscle that was my necromancy and tried to push through the pounding pressure and get a sense of him. Probably an exercise in futility, given the psychic imbalance hanging over the town.  </p>
<p> The pain was instantaneous, slamming into my skull with the force of a battle-ax, threatening to cleave my skull in two. For a stunned second, I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. A screech filled my ears, so piercing it felt like someone had jammed an icepick into my ears and was gouging their way steadily toward my gray matter. And then, through it all, there were voices. Men’s voices. Women’s voices. And more chilling than that, an unending, child-like wail.</p>
<p><i>“Oh God, please. Please, please, end it. Send me to hell. Anything but this,”</i> a man begged in a hoarse whisper.</p>
<p><i>“No, no, no! Let me out! Let me out, let me out, let me out!”</i> A woman’s voice this time, so thick with tears that I could barely understand the short, ragged plea. <i>“Please. Oh please, merciful God, please...”</i></p>
<p>There were more voices, layering over each other like a garbled chorus. Old, young, male, female. Some spoke English, and others didn’t. The only common denominator was the edge of despair and utter, hair-raising terror. My heart resumed its attempts to burst from my chest, and my lungs ached. I was dangerously close to hyperventilating and I couldn’t stop. </p>
<p>My hands were clamped so hard over my ears the sides of my face hurt and even so, I couldn’t block them out. I could feel them reaching out, the brush of their phantom fingers like the most malevolent ghosts I’d ever encountered. My skin prickled in the cold, every hair standing on end. The feeling was everywhere, now that I was paying attention, but I couldn’t see a single ghost. </p>
<p>I was so stunned by the pain, the cold, and the screams that it took Edward’s vigorous shaking to bring me back to myself. My teeth clacked together painfully, bringing me back to myself just enough to curl my necromancy in tight, pushing it as deep as I could. Abruptly, the noise stopped, though the silence that followed was almost as eerie as the screams. </p>
<p>“Anita!” Edward all but shouted. “Anita, what’s wrong?” </p>
<p>I shook my head and flicked one glance at the clerk. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on in this town, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to divulge what I’d just heard to the locals. Small towns like this one tended to distrust magic on principle, and people with my ability in particular. </p>
<p>Edward took the hint and seized me by the elbow, marching me up the stairs. On an ordinary day, I’d have yanked the arm back and told him where he could shove the “little lady” schtick. At the moment, I was shaking too badly to argue. I was afraid that if he let go, I might collapse. He didn’t release me until we’d reached the men’s hotel room, and only after he’d plopped my ass down on the bed. The room was almost identical to ours, though the bedspreads were green, and the damask wallpaper a rich burgundy. The drapes were partially open. After all, it wasn’t as if his bunk buddies shared my roommate’s sunlight allergy.</p>
<p>The queen-sized mattress across from mine was pristine, the sheets smooth. Harley either hadn’t returned, or our leech had taken him before he could get any shut-eye.</p>
<p>“What just happened?” Edward demanded. </p>
<p>“I...I don’t know.” </p>
<p>“What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you were having a goddamn seizure, Anita!” </p>
<p>“I was trying to extend my necromancy toward the clerk and I got walloped by a hundred or more ghosts, all at once, all screaming or begging for help. I’ve never felt anything like it, Edward. Not even when our class took a field trip to the sites of Civil War battles. Something happened here.” </p>
<p>Something flickered in Edward’s eyes. Something I never thought I’d see. Fear. A moment of genuine, gut-wrenching fear. It disappeared before it could settle onto his face, but I’d spotted it all the same. </p>
<p>My stomach bottomed out. If Death was scared, I should be wetting my pants. </p>
<p>What the fuck was going on in this town?</p>
<p>“You said absorbing psychics extends the leech’s life,” Edward said, pacing a narrow stretch of floor, keeping close in case I keeled over. “Assuming this thing has a steady diet of magic, how long can it live?” </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” I answered quietly. “They’re rare. Really, really rare. And like most psychics, they were mostly branded as witches and burned. Experts think they could siphon years off a person. So, theoretically? Centuries. Maybe millennium.” </p>
<p>“Fuck,” Edward hissed. “And this thing has probably been taking the vampires as well. Can they get anything from something that’s already dead?” </p>
<p>“Again, it’s only theoretical, but I’d say yes. Nobody knows exactly how it works, but vampires are animated with some version of necromancy. It’s why they used to hunt necromancers. Supposedly they control all dead, not just human corpses.” </p>
<p>Edward rounded on one heel, hissing another curse, stalking out of the room as quickly as he’d entered. He disappeared from view, and after a few moments, the curses grew louder and more foul. When he entered the room again, his eyes were wide, and a little frenzied. </p>
<p>“They’re gone?” </p>
<p>A jolt of pure panic shot down my spine. “Gone? But it’s not even full dark yet.” </p>
<p>“Their body bags are gone as well,” Edward spat. “Our leech must have bagged them and carried them out like yesterday’s garbage. I doubt anyone even noticed.” </p>
<p>“But if the leech has them-“ </p>
<p>“They’re fucked. We’re fucked. This whole town is fucked.” </p>
<p>I couldn’t argue, because he was right. No psychic vampire had ever lived long enough to rack up a body count like this. There had been no accounts of a psychic vampire trying to drain a bloodsucker. Our leech was a brave little pioneer. </p>
<p>“What do we do?” </p>
<p>Edward began pacing. “We join up with Otto and use his beast form to literally sniff them out. They have to be in town somewhere, and it’s still a little before dark. If you’re right and this thing operates at night, we’re running out of time. They’ve already halved our numbers. I don’t want to know what happens if this thing catches the rest of us off guard.” </p>
<p>God, that was a terrifying thought. Edward, Otto, and I facing off with a souped-up psychic vampire we couldn’t detect. Part of me wanted to burrow under the covers and pray this was another of Raina’s nightly treats. </p>
<p>Oddly, I wanted my stuffed penguin, Sigmund. I wanted to press him into my stomach and squeeze him until the aching stopped. I seized one of the pillows instead and hunched over it, trying to quell the need to be sick. </p>
<p>And in doing so, noticed a stain on the underside. A rusty-red smear that curved into the letter C. </p>
<p>I flipped the pillow over and stared at the word scrawled in almost illegible handwriting. </p>
<p>“Church,” Edward read aloud. </p>
<p>He tore his gaze away from the pillow, and our eyes met. A perfect moment of understanding passed between us. </p>
<p>“He’s still alive,” Edward said, and it wasn’t a question. </p>
<p>“He’s fallen back to the community center. He’s discovered something,” I said, thinking aloud, gratified when Edward nodded along.</p>
<p>“And we need to find out what that something is right the fuck now,” Edward finished. “Can you stand? Or do I need to have Otto carry you when he gets here?” </p>
<p>“Fuck off,” I muttered, climbing to my feet. Still a little shaky, but I thought I’d be able to pass a field sobriety test if pressed. </p>
<p>His lips curled in a humorless half-smile. “That’s what I like to hear, Blake.” </p>
<p>Then he swept out of the room, moving at a dead sprint. I followed in his wake, struggling to keep pace, even with my new, enhanced speed. Damn tall people. We reached the bottom of the stairs in record time and ignored the clerk’s order not to run in the lobby. When we reached the door, we hurled ourselves into the gathering twilight, running like the hounds of hell were nipping at our heels. </p>
<p>And for all we knew? They could be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m sorry,” Audrey said. “I just can’t. Reverend Woodward isn’t through with the message.”</p>
<p>If you listened, you could detect just a faint tremor beneath the soft-spoken words, though it was hard to hear her through all the noise in the community center. The jukebox had gone on the fritz and was now cycling through <i>The Carpenter’s Greatest Hits</i> nonstop. Audrey had folded her hands across her lap, bowing her head meekly in the face of Edward’s anger, but she didn’t budge from her position in front of the doors. At least a hundred voices swelled into the chorus of a hymn. I didn’t recognize the song. </p>
<p>There was something off about the musical accompaniment, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what. It sounded almost exactly like the music I’d heard in the parish church in Stillwater. I’d only been inside a few times with Grandma Flores. Catholic churches didn’t welcome animators, as a general rule. We’d been excommunicated before I was ever born. </p>
<p>In 1950 a cabal of fanatical animators had taken turns raising the Pope as an incredibly lifelike zombie with human sacrifice. About two hundred and thirty people had died before the Vatican had caught on. It had caused mass defection from the Church, and now figures of any note were strongly encouraged to consider cremation after death. Even the best animator couldn’t bring you back if they had immolated you.</p>
<p>“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Edward said, and anyone else would have backed away from the ice in his tone. “This is obstruction of justice, Ms. Howell. If you don’t move away from the door-“</p>
<p>“You’ll do what?” she countered, raising her chin. There was a little steel in her tone. “Impede our right to peaceably assemble? Our right to religious freedom? I am not saying you can’t enter the fellowship hall, I am saying you need to <i>wait</i>."</p>
<p>“Why?” Edward pressed.</p>
<p>Audrey’s chin dipped again, shoulders drawing together like someone was pressing her in on herself. Another tremor ran through her voice. </p>
<p>“I don’t know. He’s just peculiar that way, Agent. Evening services are for our members only. If you want to attend, come Sunday morning.” </p>
<p>“Harley is in there,” Edward said, jabbing a finger toward the folding doors that led into the temporary worship hall. “If you don’t move out of the way in five seconds, I’m going to <i>make</i> you move.” </p>
<p>His voice had been steadily rising the entire time. It was the most animated I’d ever seen him in the three years since we’d met. I wondered if I ought to be offended. I was Death’s successor. For some unfathomable reason, he’d picked me out of a dozen other hopeful vampire hunters to train for the role of Horseman. I’d nearly been killed almost a dozen times over the years, but he’d never reacted this way.</p>
<p>If I was being honest, I hadn’t thought Edward was capable of this level of emotion. He was a sociopath. Limited attachment to others came with the territory. What was it about Harley that flipped the switch? He was almost acting like a sane human being. </p>
<p>A seam of light appeared at one end of the doors and a head and shoulders appeared in the gap. </p>
<p>The man was six feet tall and nearly skeletal, an ill-fitting black suit bagging off his spare frame. The hand he wrapped around the door was claw-like, bones straining the thin, papery skin. Involuntary tremors rocked his body every few seconds. It looked like it took what little energy he had to glower at us. </p>
<p>“What’s going on out here?” he asked, voice a light, feathery whisper. I barely heard him over the jukebox. </p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Reverend. Agent Brogan is looking for a friend.”</p>
<p>“Evening services are for members of our congregation only.” </p>
<p>“I’ve told them that,” Audrey said. “I told them he’s not inside.”</p>
<p>“I’d like to check for myself, thanks,” Edward said, and, with an expression that was more snarl than smile, he shouldered his way past Audrey and wrenched the folding door open. </p>
<p>The frail Reverend stood no chance against Edward’s strength. The door rattled open, and every eye in the room swiveled toward us. A few even had small communion cups frozen halfway to their mouths. It was clear at a glance that none of the shocked faces belonged to Harley. In fact, none looked younger than sixty. Audrey was one of the few young people I’d seen. </p>
<p>An unexpected wave of childhood nostalgia hit me as I scanned the sanctuary. With just a few exceptions, it looked exactly like the interior of the small parish church in Stillwater. I’d never loved the Sunday mornings with Grandma Flores, but I had valued the afternoons visiting my mother in the cemetery nearby. </p>
<p>A long scarlet runner spanned from the doors to the altar. A little further back was an alcove that would hold the baptismal font. Several rows of long oak pews faced the front and the pipe organ that stretched to fit the entire back wall. Light from the teardrop chandelier glinted prettily off the pipes. </p>
<p>The pipe organ. <i>Of course!</i> </p>
<p>I wrapped a hand around Edward’s bicep and tugged. To my surprise, I yanked him a half foot back before he could tug himself free. This human servant thing was a pain more often than not, but at times like these, it had its perks. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” I said, slapping on my best business smile, aiming it squarely at the Reverend. It was utterly insincere and didn’t reach my eyes, but most people didn’t notice. “I think Bobby’s a little sleep deprived. Harley must have given us the wrong address. We’ll just check with Aubrey and be on our way, okay?”</p>
<p>The Reverend glared at us for another second before giving us a curt nod.“If you could be so kind as to keep it to a dull roar, that would be much appreciated.”</p>
<p>Then he stepped back into the sanctuary, seized the handles for the folding doors, and pulled them back into place. It took a minute or two before the chorus began again. Edward yanked his arm from my grip and paced toward the exit, muscles tensed. He braced his hands on either side of the door like he wanted to hurl himself into the gathering twilight. </p>
<p>I turned my smile on Audrey next. She returned it cautiously. </p>
<p>“I really am sorry about that,” I said, nodding toward Edward. “It’s a lot of stress, you know. I think he needs to take a sabbatical.” </p>
<p>“It’s alright. What exactly did you need help with?” </p>
<p>“Well, I think we may have had a mixup.” I gestured toward the donation box near the folding doors. “When we had dinner here the other night, we were trying to meet in case of an emergency. We said we’d meet at the church, but I suppose there’s more than one of those in town. Silly us. This has only been in use for...what? A year?” </p>
<p>“Three,” Audrey said. “But yes, there were two church buildings in town. They’re closed for repair. I hope your friend hasn’t gone inside. The roofs are caving in. It’s not safe.” </p>
<p>“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” I said, forcing the smile so wide it hurt. I wasn’t used to holding it for so long. </p>
<p>Audrey took the twenty I offered for the donations box with a smile and waved as I followed Edward out the door. </p>
<p>“Be safe!” she called after us.</p>
<p>“We will!” I called back, holding the painful smile until the door banged closed behind us. </p>
<p>The only parking spot available had been two blocks from the community center. Edward waited until we’d rounded a corner before he spoke.</p>
<p>“What the hell was that back there?” Edward hissed.</p>
<p>“I was about to ask you the same thing. Why were you shouting? You don’t lose your cool, Edward. You just don’t.” </p>
<p>“And you don’t play nice, Anita. What’s was with the customer service smile and kiss ass attitude, huh? You may play politics for your girlfriend’s sake, but you never do it with a fucking smile on your face.” </p>
<p>I tried to tug Edward to a halt again, and he danced back a step, hand coming to rest lightly on the grip of his Sig Sauer. Before I could even think, my holster was unlatched, and I had a grip on my Browning.  </p>
<p>The air was suddenly crisper, my vision clearer, and a static hum filled my ears. Our eyes locked, and we knew in that frozen half-second that if either of us drew down, it would be the end of our careful little alliance. We’d see who was truly meant to bear the name Death. </p>
<p>“Not today, Edward,” I whispered. My breath plumed in front of my face, obscuring my vision for a terrifying instant. He could have shot me but didn’t. “We don’t have to decide this today.” </p>
<p>“Don’t touch me,” Edward said. </p>
<p>He lowered the Sig to point at the ground, even if he didn’t holster it. I did the same, and some of the tension faded away. My world was a little less clear, but more sound came filtering back. I could make out the distant strain of the pipe organ if I tried.</p>
<p>“Fine, I won’t touch you. Just tell me what it is about Harley that’s made you react this way.” </p>
<p>“It’s nothing.” </p>
<p>“Bullshit! You want me in this little club of yours? You want me to be your replacement someday? Talk to me. Tell me the truth, and you sure as hell have to stop trying to shoot me for shits and giggles!”</p>
<p>Edward grimaced and tucked the Sig into his shoulder rig. “You’re right.” </p>
<p>“Damn skippy.” </p>
<p>Edward opened and shut his mouth a few times before he finally spoke. “Harley and I were... close. We ended up in a lot of the same foster families. I looked out for him. There aren’t a lot of good support systems for kids aging out of the system. Harley wanted to enlist in the Armed Forces, so I went with him. He wouldn’t have been able to make it without me. My psychic gifts are minor. A little telesthesia. It makes me a good assassin, but it’s a parlor trick compared to what he can do. Harley can’t do it alone. He has to have medication to narrow the focus, or failing that someone who can rein him in.” </p>
<p>I holstered the Browning and leaned in to listen, curious in spite of myself. When Edward turned up in my life, things tended to be more Jerry Springer than Dr. Phil. I’d never expected to hear Edward talk about his childhood. Hell, it was hard to picture him as a child at all.</p>
<p>“So what happened?” </p>
<p>Edward shrugged. “Our unit was under attack by preternatural insurgents. It was against their religion to allow witches, vampires, or therians into their cities, but the locals would let them live if they kept the Americans out. They pinned us down for days. I ran out of his medication, couldn’t get him to listen to orders and...” </p>
<p>“He killed the monsters?”</p>
<p>Edward’s swallow was audible. “He killed everyone. The insurgents, our unit, even the fucking dogs. If we hadn’t been together for so long, he’d probably have killed me too. Van Cleef’s people found us before the rest of the Army could. It’s the only reason we’re not up on charges.”</p>
<p>I shuddered. And Harley thought <i>I</i> was the scariest one in the room. </p>
<p>“I think he’s at one of the other churches.” </p>
<p>“I gathered,” he said dryly. “But why? You know damn well he didn’t mishear.” </p>
<p>“No, I think he needed us to see. Or at the very least hear.” </p>
<p>“Hear what?” </p>
<p>“The community center has a pipe organ built into the back wall.” </p>
<p>“And? A lot of churches have them.”</p>
<p>“No, lots of churches have <i>digital</i> organs, not pipe organs. Two entirely different things. Digital organs are mass-produced, and they can mimic the sound of a pipe organ, but they’re not actually the same thing.” </p>
<p>Edward frowned. “I’m still not following.” </p>
<p>“They usually build pipe organs into the architecture of a place. They’re never there by accident. You see them a lot in cathedrals. They’re works of art, and so complex that it takes a fucking genius to learn how to play them correctly. I thought about learning as a kid, then gave up when I found out everything that goes into playing one. Even the tiny one in Stillwater’s parish church is complicated as hell.” </p>
<p>“So that means...” </p>
<p>“The pipe organ wasn’t moved into the space. They built it there. They want a space that looks church-like enough to draw people in-“</p>
<p>“But isn’t actually holy ground,” Edward finished. “Are you saying that they’re all in on it?” </p>
<p>I shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think at least one of them is.” </p>
<p>“Reverend Woodward.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Otto melted out of the shadows ahead of us, looming like some overgrown wraith. It was lucky we’d holstered our guns, or we’d have both shot him. </p><p>Though, at the speed he moved, I wasn’t sure if we’d have scored a direct hit. </p><p>I had to crane my neck to see his face, and even then I could read his expression. The street lamps had flared to life during our illuminating talk with the Reverend. Amber light highlighted his brow, the ridge of his nose, the sweep of his cheekbones, but left shadows to pool in the dip of his chin, the deep set of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks. He looked like a Rorschach test, and if I looked too long, I’d see something eerie. </p><p>“How long were you standing there?” I asked. </p><p>“Long enough,” he said with a shrug. “You are...impressive. For a woman.” </p><p>The last time he’d said the words, he’d been trying to insult me. Now the words came with halting, painful slowness like he was having a tooth pulled without anesthesia. But this time they seemed grudgingly sincere.  </p><p>Edward and I exchanged a glance, and I was glad to see he was as confused as I was by Otto’s sudden change of heart. Neither of us had sensed him there. I hadn’t done anything particularly spectacular that warranted the compliment. Still, I wasn’t about to argue. I was winning, and you didn’t argue when you were winning. </p><p>“The pipe organ observation was pretty good,” Edward acknowledged with a nod. “It wasn’t something I’d have caught.” </p><p>Otto shifted his position, putting himself in shadow, so we could finally get a good look at him. Irritation flickered across his face briefly. </p><p>“It’s not that.” </p><p>It was Edward’s turn to be irritated. He was the last in the know a lot tonight, and it was apparently beginning to chafe. </p><p>“What then?” he snapped. </p><p>“That moment there, between the two of you.  She was faster than you. Had you drawn she would have shot you, no hesitation, no remorse, and there was that episode of dissociation...”</p><p>Otto considered me, and an eager look crossed his face. His dark eyes glittered, and the ghost of a smile curled one corner of his mouth. It didn’t make his face look inviting. If anything, it made me think of Harley, with that million-mile stare that stripped me bare. </p><p>“They call you the Executioner, yes?” he said finally. “Because you have killed many vampires?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“I’m not sure. The numbers get a little muddy after the kerfuffle that went down in St. Louis last month.” </p><p>“An estimate, then.”</p><p>“One hundred and fifty. A lot of those are government-sanctioned morgue kills. I get a call, travel to the site, and stake the corpse. No muss, no fuss.” </p><p>“How many were alive, so to speak, when you killed them?” </p><p>I didn’t like where this was going. It felt like a police interrogation. Was Sheriff Baxter waiting in the wings, recording this conversation? Or was Otto slipping back into his old profiling ways. </p><p>“In the course of my duties? Six serial rapists, two serial killers, one pedophile, and a firebug. Why the fuck does it matter?” </p><p>“You killed them because they were evil men, because they deserved to die, and because you had the power and authority to do so.” </p><p>“Damn right. Got a point?” </p><p>That smile blossomed into something real. Cold, but real. “Female serial killers overwhelmingly kill for sex and financial gain. But you...you kill like a man. I find it...fascinating.”</p><p>“I’m not a serial killer. The American Government agreed they would not label Vampire Executioners serial killers. There’s no pathology. We’re like soldiers or police. It’s just a job.” </p><p>Otto’s smile didn’t fade. He turned so his back was to us. </p><p>“It is a job for them,” Otto called blithely over one shoulder. This was the happiest I’d ever seen him. Creepy fucking bastard. “But it is more than that for you. You haven’t killed a hundred and fifty vampires just to fulfill your civic duty, Ms. Blake.”</p><p>My fingers itched with the need to go for my gun. I didn’t like this. Didn’t enjoy being the bug he examined under a microscope. </p><p>And I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that he might have a point. My opposition to the recently proposed FBSA wasn’t purely altruistic. If the law passed, and the bureau formed, it would be a factory cranking out people just like me. Or at least, the way I’d been not so long ago. </p><p>People with a grudge against vampires with only half my training, and none of my connections. People who’d never learned the difference between a thrall and a human servant. People who were radicalized to hate what they couldn’t understand. People who’d use every vampire they staked as a stand-in for the one that wronged them. </p><p>Just like I had, until Jeanette had dragged me to the other side, forcing my eyes open wide. I was starting to realize the world wasn’t as simple as I’d like it to be, and that sometimes I was part of the problem.</p><p>“I assume you weren’t lurking for the hell of it,” Edward asked.</p><p>“The Kinford County Police are waiting up the road from us. They have brought dogs.” </p><p>“I don’t think German Shepherds are going to cut it in this town. The cadaver dogs failed before. So either we try to rustle up some troll hounds, or we use your superior sniffer.” </p><p>Otto scowled. “I walked through the entire town and around the cabin twice in my human form last night. I found nothing.” </p><p>“You didn’t try beast form,” Edward said. “Anita’s got some experience with therians. She can go with you.”</p><p>Otto’s lip curled. “I will not be her cat on a leash, especially not to find those two vampire bitches. They can rot.”</p><p>Edward gave me very direct eye contact for just an instant, probably sensing the momentary urge to go for my gun. Damn his prescience. Sometimes it was a little scary how well he knew me. Was I predictable, or was Edward just that well-acquainted with my moods? And if it was the latter, what did it say about me that a literal sociopath and I were so often on the same wavelength? Did it confirm what Otto suspected? </p><p>Was I a serial killer with a pathological need to kill evil vampires and wereanimals? </p><p>Scary thought, that. </p><p>“You’ll do what you’re told,” Edward snapped. </p><p>“And who will make me?” Otto shot back.</p><p>Edward shoved his face into Otto’s, close enough to kiss the big man. Close enough that he could have felt him blink. Otto jerked like he’d been hit with a cattle prod, muttering a vile curse in German, hand disappearing into his dark overcoat. </p><p>Not quick enough. Edward caught the big man’s wrist before he could get a grip on a weapon, and very casually unholstered the Derringer strapped to his waist. I knew Edward favored his right but had trained himself to use both with almost equal precision. He pressed the muzzle against Otto’s stomach, using the coat to disguise the movement. To anyone watching, it might have looked like an embrace.</p><p>“Unsheathe that knife, and several things will happen in the next few seconds, Otto. Maybe you’ll get a blade into me. Maybe I’ll die. But I will pull this trigger before that happens. It will sever an artery. You won’t get the chance to die of a hemorrhage, because unless you cooperate with us, Anita will kill your worthless ass. Isn’t that right, Anita?”</p><p>I already had a hand on the Browning, ready to draw if Otto so much as twitched. “Right.”</p><p>Otto’s eyes burned with hate, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed. The heat of his beast boiled through the air, banishing the ever-present cold of the town. Standing near him felt like stepping into a sauna. He was so damn <i>powerful.</i> </p><p>“Why do you want them? They’re just vampires. Long-lived and fast, but not otherwise extraordinary. Harley ought to be your priority. His life is worth more.” </p><p>“He is my priority. But after we’ve found him, we’re getting the twins back. They’re my people, Otto. If you’re gonna play ball with us, they’re your people too. Get used to it. If not, I can put you right back where I found you. You were facing extradition if I recall correctly.” </p><p>The temperature around Otto continued to climb steadily. I was astonished Edward could keep his hands on Otto when he was pissed. It had to feel like holding onto an iron brand. </p><p>“Fine.” </p><p>“You will get furry when I tell you, where I tell you, and with whom I tell you. Anita will travel with you because I don’t want one of the nice police officers opening fire on you. No doubt you’d see it as an excuse to maul them. No more fucking deaths. Not unless I give the go-ahead. Understood?” </p><p>“I will kill you for this,” Otto said, very quietly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “Sometime, someplace, I will kill you.”</p><p>Edward actually smiled. “Someone will, eventually, but trust me, Otto. It won’t be you. If I had to wager, it will be the woman behind us.” </p><p>Otto’s gaze shifted to me, speculative and hungry. “She’s something. I will concede that.”</p><p>“And she’s mine. No one takes what belongs to Death, Otto. Not even another Horseman, and you’re not even there yet.”</p><p>“I don’t belong to Death,” I said, coming to stand beside Edward. “I will ascend and become Death. I don’t fear Pestilence.”</p><p>Edward smiled. “God, it’s sexy when you talk murder.” </p><p>“Let him go, Edward. We need to find Harley.” </p><p>That sobered him right up. He nodded. </p><p>“You’re right. Let’s get going.” He took a step back from Otto and holstered the Derringer, but didn’t break eye contact. “I mean it, Otto. Touch her, and there is no place on Earth you’ll be safe. I will find you, and the things I’ll do to you will become the basis for urban legends all over the world.” </p><p>The threat should have sounded hyperbolic. It didn’t. With Van Cleef’s resources, I believed he could do it. It scared me a little. </p><p>Otto just smirked. All he said aloud was; “Understood.” </p><p>But my head translated the tone, the inflection, and the look into what he really meant. </p><p>
  <i>“Challenge accepted.”</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry if it's a tiny bit of a filler chapter. I promise we are getting to the plot soon! :) I thought I needed to establish this now so it doesn't come out of left field in the end.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t see why you’re bitching at me, Agent,” Sheriff Baxter said, hunching his shoulders defensively against the wind, and struggling to keep a German Shepherd from tugging him sideways. “I couldn’t have answered a question you didn’t ask.”</p>
<p>The sun was down, and the clouds pressed down on Lockridge from above. The radios spat out only garbled static, but it was clear to anyone with even a little survival training that a storm was on its way. Our best course of action would be to bunker down somewhere safe and warm to ride it out. Unfortunately, Verity, Maclicia, and Harley were out in the thick of it. And as Kelvin had pointed out last night, burrowing in the snow was no guarantee of safety when the sun came out. Assuming they were someplace where the sun could reach them. It was a big leap to make.</p>
<p>At this point, it was a toss-up which was the greater catastrophe. Our alleged reverend leech, who could be draining unlife from the two ancient vampires as we stumbled around in the snow, or an unhinged, heavily armed aura reader who was backed into a wall and had nothing to lose. </p>
<p>Ah, and how could I forget? There were still missing chemicals and bomb parts. I was betting the reverend had those as well. Yippee-Skippee. </p>
<p>“You knew damn well it was relevant,” Edward said, stalking purposefully up the snow-slicked lane toward the sagging church. I was struggling to keep up. Between the rapidly accumulating snow and his superior stride, he was making much better time. “You should have included the missing vampires in the case files. Twenty people don’t just up and disappear.”</p>
<p>“They had nothing in common with the soap mummies, and there was no evidence of foul play. Lockridge is a sleepy little town full of retirees. The Summer Fox scandal is the most interesting thing to come out of this town since its founding, Agent. We thought those people left because it’s as dull as ditchwater here.”</p>
<p>My lungs were burning by the time I reached Sheriff Baxter’s side. Deputy Merrill was trying hard not to give me one of those patented pitying looks that tall people reserved for their shorter peers. She’d already given one to her boss. Something about his phrasing caught my attention. </p>
<p>“What do you mean, since the founding? Was there something strange about it? I couldn’t find anything when I looked online and the pamphlets here in town have been less than illuminating.” </p>
<p>Granted, I hadn’t been trying to write an essay on the place. I’d been tired, emotionally wrung out, and I hadn’t been as diligent as I’d normally have been before joining the police on a case. Especially stupid of me, because I wasn’t familiar with the Kinford County Police Department. At least when I worked with RPIT, they knew my background, my methods, and my shortcomings. It should have behooved me to put my best foot forward, but I had at least put in the bare minimum. I’d gotten some basic biographical information through Google and then again through Edward before takeoff. </p>
<p>Janessa sighed. “I’m pretty sure it’s just an urban legend. A group of white men and their families came looking to fish and trap in and around Lockridge, and they ousted a group of immigrants who’d already settled there. One of the women was my Great Grandma Sarah, or so daddy claims. She was a free woman, trying to find a life out west. She didn’t want trouble, and she ran when it looked like there might be bloodshed. One of the only white couples in the group stayed to face the new folks. They said they’d sort things out and that everyone would get to stay in Lockridge.”</p>
<p>“And?” Edward asked. He hadn’t stopped moving, but his pace had slowed. </p>
<p>“And they settled things. Many people were just...gone when Sarah returned to Lockridge. Everyone said the missing families had just packed up and left, but that explanation never sat right with Grandma. She said the town felt wrong after that, and it only got worse with every passing year. When Presdale was built ten years later, she moved and our family has lived there ever since.” </p>
<p>Fuck me. Had that been the start? Could this thing really be a hundred and sixty-five years old? And if it was, how the hell had it been keeping itself going? Josef’s missing vampires were only a few years dead. It wouldn’t be enough to keep a hungry energy vampire going for very long, and small-town psychics were scarce in this day and age. Summer’s little terrorist cell must have looked like a buffet. </p>
<p>Janessa’s story at least explained the constant psychic pressure, and it tallied with Otto’s experiences. It felt like a serial killer’s home because it <i>was</i> a serial killer’s home. Or rather, a serial killer’s <i>hometown</i>. </p>
<p>Otto was across town, investigating the church nearest to the town limits while the rest of us were checking the condemned baptist church a block away from the Lockridge Inn. If Harley wasn’t in either location, we’d split the town into four sections. Edward with Janessa combing the woods to the right of town, and the cabins at the base of Blind Worm Peak. Sheriff Baxter and another officer would take the section of woods and the cabins at the base of Adder’s Fork Peak. The two remaining officers would take the cadaver dogs and comb the town while Otto and I searched the road out of town, on the assumption that Harley may have acted like a sane person and gotten the hell out of Dodge. </p>
<p>The wind howled in our ears, and the cold cut through my parka like it was made of tissue paper. I’d packed the heaviest coat I owned, and it didn’t cut muster in the mounting blizzard. My feet felt like solid blocks of ice, and I wasn’t sure I could run if the occasion called for it. The wind chill was brutal. It was so damn cold that mucus was trying to seal my nose shut with every shaking breath I took. I could barely keep the flashlight in my hand still, and I didn’t have a prayer of holding a gun steady if this cold kept up. It had crept up fast, and what had been easy ten minutes ago was damn near impossible now. </p>
<p>I could only hope the mucus-like monster was as vulnerable to the cold as we were. If not, we were well and truly fucked. Well, everyone but Otto. Tigers were incredibly adaptable and could easily survive a storm like this. </p>
<p>Edward was probably regretting his choice to bait Otto now. </p>
<p>The church loomed out of the darkness and spitting snow. In the wavering flashlight beam falling on the jagged remains of a broken steeple. The roof beyond was sagging under its own weight, portions of the slate tiles completely gone. The cross had been allowed to rot through. A pair of shapes moved furtively by the fence that cordoned off the small cemetery. Both startled when a half dozen beams fell on them. </p>
<p>One was unmistakably Harley. He’d lost his aviator jacket somewhere along the way and had to be freezing. Either he didn’t notice, or he didn’t care, because he wasn’t moving from his spot behind the fence, muttering to himself, staring past the other man as though he couldn’t see him. His eyes were fixed on something. Oh yes, he saw <i>something</i>, but it wasn’t us. </p>
<p>There was a panicked, slightly feral gleam in his eye. The desperation of the fox with its foot in a trap. Harley looked ready to gnaw his way to freedom. I couldn’t make out the words until we got closer.</p>
<p>“But whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”</p>
<p>I recognized the verse but couldn’t put my finger on what book it was from, or why it was relevant. Why was Harley quoting scripture? He was already safe on holy ground. </p>
<p>And then I made out the shape on the other side of the fence, and my heart sank. </p>
<p>The young man was around six feet tall, with wavy blonde hair, hazel eyes, plump cheeks, a thin, rather pointed nose, and a patchy beard. He was pale and shaking, even though the cold meant very little to him these days. </p>
<p>After all, the dead didn’t worry about little things like regulating their body temperature. </p>
<p>Kelvin was hunched forward, shaking with sobs, so it was easy to miss the .45 hanging loosely in one hand. </p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have stuck your nose in! They said they’d spare James a little longer! Now you’ve doomed us both. Guess what, asshole? I’m not going to let it happen. I’ll die again. For good. And trust me, you’ll want to die too. It’s a mercy.” </p>
<p>“Freeze!” I shouted.</p>
<p>Kelvin froze, his eyes roving to find us standing just a few feet away. By the time his searching gaze found us, my gun wasn’t the only one pointing in his direction. </p>
<p>“Put the gun down, son,” Sheriff Baxter said. </p>
<p>“You don’t understand,” Kelvin said, and his voice was a ragged plea. His voice was so low that only those closest could hear. Edward and I happened to be the lucky pair. “They’re going to <i>eat</i> us. I’ve seen it. It’s...Oh, God, it’s so...” </p>
<p>“Seen it done to whom?” Edward asked. “Was it one of our people? One of the two women we brought with us?” </p>
<p>“No,” Harley said, eyes still distant. “When I saw the thing festering in her, I hid them. She wants to consume our girls. Drink them down, make them eternal. Spread it around, make it a misery smoothie. If she eats any of us, it’d be the devil’s playground then, wouldn’t it? Good thing she’s tied here. Can’t move.” </p>
<p>Was any of this word salad making sense to Edward? I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and the Sheriff and his boys looked downright spooked. </p>
<p>Kelvin turned to the police, eyes still streaming. “I did it. I killed those people in the cabin. They were going to kill the people in town and I killed them before they could kill us. That’s my confession. I’m guilty of thirty-one murders.” </p>
<p>“Thirty, son,” Sheriff Baxter corrected, a mixture of relief and confusion clouding his face. </p>
<p>I wanted to smack him. He was <i>not</i> going to just accept this bullshit confession and call it a day, was he? Mummification as a vampiric power was incredibly rare and this fresh-faced undead wouldn’t be able to employ it even if his line had the power. Kelvin was just too damn young. </p>
<p>“No, I’ve killed thirty-one people, sir,” he said. </p>
<p>Then Kelvin rounded on Harvey, shoved the muzzle of the .45 between his eyes, and pulled the trigger. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We’ll probably never know whose bullet killed Kelvin Campbell. When he pitched forward, he smashed through a section of the fence.” </p>
<p>“And landed on holy ground,” Richard said, finishing the thought with a sigh. “Where he proceeded to do his best impression of the Human Torch.” </p>
<p>“Yeah.” I sighed too. I’d been doing that a lot over the last few days. “He landed on Harley, and they both burned to ash. There’s barely anything left to identify. Edward’s pissed. There was enough snow on the ground to keep the undergrowth from catching fire, so at least it was contained. And that’s as far as the Kinford County PD will take this. They have a confession, compounded by a murder-suicide. Hard to find something more damning than that.” </p>
<p>“Except, you know, the truth,” Richard muttered bitterly. </p>
<p>Every so often I’d catch the clack of keys as he typed. Routine emails, class curriculum, or his own research, he hadn’t said. Though, to be fair, I hadn’t asked. There was a clipped, almost angry cadence to the motion. Silence that stretched taut as we spoke. I couldn’t tell if he was angry with me, or just at the unfairness of the verdict.</p>
<p>“Edward won’t let it go,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “The Reverend and whoever else is in on this won’t get away with it forever. Even if Kinford County is booting us out this time, Van Cleef’s people will find another avenue to investigate. There are lakes nearby and plenty of preternatural species in need of conservation. They could go that route. They can claim to be testing the soil for the remaining chemicals. They could report the dismal state of the buildings. I’m betting most aren’t up to code. They’ll find <i>something</i>. Edward won’t let Harley’s death be a waste. He found something, and we’re going to find out what.”</p>
<p>Silence fell on the other end of the line, only broken by the occasional tap of keys. I wondered if he could hear the crunch of my boots in the snow. I’d been walking the footpath toward the Lockridge Memorial Cemetery for a half-hour, extending my necromancy as far as I dared. So long as I stayed outside of city limits, sending out feelers didn’t result in instantaneous agony. The proximity of so much malevolent energy still made me queasy, but it was a relief not to be squashed like a metaphorical pancake anytime I tried to raise power. </p>
<p>Edward and I had evacuated with the Kinford County Police, bunking with Janessa and her father until the road to Lockridge was cleared. By then, Malicia had found her way to Presdale and sheltered with Josef until the storm passed. Verity had yet to be found. We were being strongly encouraged to leave, but Edward wasn’t budging until Verity was onboard the plane with us. </p>
<p>So, just as before, we were canvassing the area in groups. Harley had buried Malicia three feet under a crossroads just north of Lockridge. Otto was searching east of town, while Edward scoured the west. That just left the road into town. I’d turned up a big fat nothing near the main road, and this was the only path for miles. It had surprised the hell out of me when Richard’s call came through. When I’d heard his voice, I hadn’t been able to stop myself. I’d spilled the entire story from Edward’s surprise visit in my office, and ending with Harley’s murder, and the frame job that the police were happy to chew and swallow. It was easier to believe I was an incompetent conspiracy theorist than actually wrap their head around the idea that there had been an energy vampire committing mass murder just one town over.</p>
<p>“Are you still there?” Richard said at last. </p>
<p>“Yeah. Just trying to focus. There’s a lot of interference from the town.” </p>
<p>The click of keys continued, the beat reaching an almost furious tempo. The silence was thick with words unsaid. He was annoyed. Answering anger prickled at the base of my scalp and raced along my skin. My free hand balled into a fist at my side. Logically, I knew that anything could have set him off. He could have had a bad day at work. He could be dealing with pack politics. He could have gotten cut off in traffic.</p>
<p>But nine times out of ten, when I was involved, the anger was directed at me. Often for good reason. Problem was, I wasn’t sure how I’d stepped in things this time around. Hell, I was taking a page from the therapist’s playbook and being forthright about my feelings. What had I done to deserve the cold shoulder? </p>
<p>“What?” I finally snapped. “What the fuck did I do?” </p>
<p>“What didn’t you do?” he shot back. </p>
<p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” </p>
<p>“You didn’t call.” </p>
<p>I just stared at the horizon for a second, mouth half-open. The sky was turning dusky rose as the sun sank beneath the horizon. When it reached full dark, I’d have to meet with Otto and Edward. Under no circumstances were we going to travel the woods around Lockridge alone after sundown.</p>
<p>“You can’t be serious.” </p>
<p>His growl actually trickled through the speakers, tickling my ear. I imagined it would have been more impressive in person. My heart gave an odd lurch.</p>
<p>“Of course I’m fucking serious.” </p>
<p>“This isn’t high school, Richard. I can’t call or text you every waking moment of the day.” </p>
<p>“It’s not...that’s not what I mean!” </p>
<p>“Then what do you mean?” </p>
<p>“I want to know you’re safe, damn it! One minute you’re at work, and the next you’re gone. When I tried to get a hold of your cell, none of my calls will go through. When I called Animators Inc. your boss tells me you’ve gone out of the state for a job. You didn’t call, you didn’t text, didn’t even leave a message with the fucking night secretary, Anita. I didn’t know where you’d gone, when you’d be back, or if you’d come back at all. And the worst part? I had to hear it secondhand from <i>her</i>. We’re dating,  and you didn’t think it was worth taking a few seconds to let me know you’d be traveling out of state to do God-knows-what. And yet you’ll tell Jeanette first thing. Sort of lets me know where I rank, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>I clenched my fist until my nails drew bloody crescents into my palm. The anger didn’t abate, just turned inward, clawing deep. My eyes stung and an odd lump formed in my throat. Thoughtless. Stupid. Selfish. Of course he was angry. If Richard, or anyone I’d cared about, ran headlong into a dangerous situation without telling me, I’d have been fucking pissed. </p>
<p>He was right. So why was it so hard to say it aloud?</p>
<p>My legs moved without thought, carrying me toward the graveyard. It’d probably been here since the town’s founding. The white limestone tombstones were caught in the crimson backwash ever-darkening sunset. The names were barely legible, sanded down by a century and a half of harsh Minnesota rain and snow. A lucky few had been maintained, but most of the stones were like the bodies they represented. Faceless and lost to time. It seemed a little sad. </p>
<p>I struggled to find something coherent to say and found my voice at last. </p>
<p>“It was completely unrelated. I needed a work visa. It was a happy accident.” </p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” </p>
<p>“She’s trying to keep me safe, Richard. Someone’s trying to-“ </p>
<p>My necromancy, which had been creeping slowly through the soil, pinging occasionally against an animal carcass, hit the edge of the graveyard. Ordinarily, I’d have expected a little pushback. Proper graveyards were blessed to keep bodies from rising as ghouls and other creepy crawlies. No one liked the thought of grandma rising as a dybbuk or a draugr. It was a blanket protection done no matter what the denomination. It didn’t stop magic from being done within a cemetery, nor could it reliably keep a vampire out. It just kept other types of undead in their graves. </p>
<p>When I hit the edge of the graveyard, I breezed straight through without effort. It left me off-balance like I’d missed the last step on a staircase. </p>
<p>“Trying to what?” Richard demanded. </p>
<p>“There’s no blessing,” I muttered. </p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“There’s no blessing on the Memorial Cemetery. And...” My skin ran cold as my power churned through empty dirt. “There’s no dead.”</p>
<p>“Why have a cemetery if there’s no one buried in it?” </p>
<p>Why indeed? It was so carefully staged, like a movie set. Scenery. A spooky backdrop. But what was the purpose? </p>
<p>I took one cautious step forward, and then another, trying to peer over the low iron fence. Most of the white limestone graves were partially covered in lichen, but I could make out the name and part of a date on the nearest. There was even a small, stone cameo with a likeness of a woman just above her name. Her hair was pulled away from her face into a severe bun. A high, ruffled collar concealed most of her long neck. Her face was long, and her nose a little too hooked to be considered conventionally attractive. Her smile was thin, her gaze haughty even in the stone likeness. Not at all timid, the way she’d appeared when I’d last seen her.</p>
<p>My breath caught, my fingers went numb, and the phone slipped out of my grasp. I knew this woman. I’d seen her very much <i>alive</i> only a few days ago.</p>
<p>AUDREY HOWELL </p>
<p>1821-188...</p>
<p>The rest of the stone date had worn away, but it didn’t ultimately matter. There was no body underneath the grave marker. There never had been. </p>
<p>“Oh, Ms. Blake. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? And we gave you such a pretty scapegoat.”</p>
<p>I whirled, and my wheeling eyes found Audrey standing less than a foot away, all but blending with the shadow in a plum blouse and billowing black skirt. For once her hair hung loose around her face, her posture just as relaxed, and she was smiling, despite her faux disappointment. She held a spade loosely in one spindly hand. She took a slow step forward.</p>
<p> My hand was on the Browning’s grip, drawing down before I was even conscious she was moving toward me, and it still wasn’t enough. Audrey’s spade struck my forearm and something cracked. Lightning streaked up my arm, and the Browning went tumbling from my grip. An ugly, animal shriek echoed into the night. I distantly realized it was mine.</p>
<p>“Don’t try that again,” she advised. She spun the spade, and with another deft swing, smashed the cell phone to bits. Richard’s tinny shouts cut off abruptly. “It’ll only make things worse for you.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” I panted, cradling my arm to my chest. “You’re already going to suck out my soul, just like you’ve done to every other psychic, witch, therian, or vampire to cross your path. That’s what energy vampires do.”</p>
<p>Audrey threw her head back and laughed. “Energy vampi... Oh, dear sweet girl! You still have no idea, do you? The seer didn’t breathe a word of what he saw, after all. We worried. That makes things simpler.” </p>
<p>It was almost dark now. Soon Audrey would transform into the slug-like monster and render me immobile. She was faster than me and she was armed. I had to keep her talking until Edward arrived, or until I could make a bid for the crucifix hidden under my blouse. Whatever she was, she was vulnerable to holy objects in her alternate form. </p>
<p>“So you’re <i>not</i> going to suck out my soul?”</p>
<p>Her bright, Stepford smile only grew sharper. “Oh, no. We never do, you see. Everyone lives forever here, Ms. Blake. <i>Everyone</i>. Their bodies may die, but the spirit is eternal. They go into the fount, and I choose who withers, and who goes in and lives again. Who screams in their shell, and who lives another year. It’s all my doing. I choose who stays on Earth, and who lives in their own personal Hell. That was the deal Audrey and I made all those years ago.”</p>
<p>Bile burned its way up my throat, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. The pain in my arm was almost blinding. Standing near her, I felt an echo of the pressure, the nauseating push of so much misery. So many souls. The entire city was a graveyard. And they’d been trapped in their bodies for years. Some of them had been trapped for well over a <i>century</i>. This thing had been feeding on their misery, taunting them, using their souls to keep itself and others alive. It was vulnerable to holy sites, to sunlight, and crucifixes. </p>
<p>It could possess someone who asked.</p>
<p>And now I knew precisely what I was dealing with. </p>
<p>I jerked Jeanette’s crucifix from my blouse with my good hand and brandished it at Audrey. It flared to life instantly, flooding the space between us with brilliant white light. I struggled to remember the beginning of a prayer. Any prayer.</p>
<p>“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women-“ </p>
<p>“Oh come now, none of that,” Audrey huffed. </p>
<p>The air displacement was the only warning I had before the spade swung out of the darkness and hit me squarely in the face. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning/NSFW Warning: Claustrophobia, high-stress situation, nudity, and sex.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The blackness was impenetrable. The only way to tell waking from oblivion was the return of pain. My head was resting on a wooden board, pressure clamping down on my skull like a vise, until I was sure my eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. My broken arm sent streaks of agony through my right side with every beat of my heart. </p>
<p>I ran a shaking hand over my face. My nose was mashed to the side and crusted with blood. Pain rippled across my face when I gingerly prodded my cheekbones. I’d put my money on fractures.</p>
<p>A thick clot rested at the back of my throat, and I came up hacking and coughing. Something solid and suspiciously tooth-shaped plinked onto the wood beside me when I turned my face to the side. At least my jaw was moving. Sad to say, it was a tally in my plus column at the moment. </p>
<p>Blood dribbled down my lips, and I moaned. The last time I’d felt this miserable, a vampire had thrown me through a glass door and through a layer of drywall. </p>
<p>Apt. I supposed. A demon with a shovel was probably comparable to a vampire and drywall. </p>
<p>The demon. <i>Fuck!</i> </p>
<p>I vaulted upright...and impacted another solid surface so hard I saw stars. It hurt so fucking badly, that tears ran down the sides of my face, and an actual sob escaped me. What the fuck had I hit? </p>
<p>I extended a hand cautiously, running my fingers along the surface above me. It seemed to be rough, unfinished wood, slapdash construction, like the birdhouses I’d made on summer afternoons with dad. I remembered thinking they were too small for the birds. These dimensions were cramped, like those little boxes. But as I felt it out with my hands and feet it wasn’t shaped like a box, it was shaped like a...</p>
<p>Coffin. </p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>The sound ballooned in the box's interior, too large, too shrill, too much for the dimensions I’d been stuffed into. I didn’t care. I screamed. I screamed myself hoarse and still; it wasn’t enough. </p>
<p>There wasn’t enough space, wasn’t enough air. I sucked in great lungfuls of the stuff, trying to stave off more hysterics, knowing all the while it wouldn’t help. There was a limited supply of air, and I was using it up as I went to pieces. </p>
<p>And yet, I couldn’t stop. The darkness was trying to suffocate me. I was going to die in the dark, alone, with no one to hear me. Fresh tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes.</p>
<p><i>I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die</i>, a small, persistent voice gibbered at the back of my head.</p>
<p>“No, you’re not,” I argued, my voice in a raw whisper. “You trained for this.” </p>
<p>Sort of. I’d been shoved into a crate and taught the theory, at least. Edward hadn’t actually buried me alive. </p>
<p>He said there were many mercenary groups, human and otherwise, who’d done this to him over the years. If they made the casket of cardboard or wood, you stood a good chance of breaking out. I just had to create a seal over my head. Had the demon left me a shirt? Did I still have an elastic band to seal it tight?</p>
<p>I ran a hand down my body, letting out a shaky breath when I found my clothing still intact. I even had my jacket, pocket flashlight, and keys. I’d have to find the center of the lid of the coffin. Structurally, it would be the weakest point. I fumbled the flashlight out of my jacket pocket and flicked it on. </p>
<p>Spots danced in my vision for a few seconds, and when they cleared, my heart lurched again. Because, strapped to the center of the coffin lid were a square of C4, a bundle of wires, and a digital clock. It was counting down, with only a half-hour left to go. </p>
<p>“Oh, fuck me!”</p>
<p>The panic rose like bile, clogging my throat, choking off my air. Forget the bomb. I was going to suffocate before the damn thing went off at this rate. I had to get a handle on myself. I had to get out of here and warn Edward. I would not die whimpering like a scared little girl. I would not die before I could apologize to Richard. I would not be another faceless victim. I was getting out of here, and I was killing Audrey and the sick fucks who enabled her. </p>
<p>The problem? I had no idea how to defuse a bomb, and no access to the vampire who did. My cell phone had been reduced to plastic shrapnel by Audrey’s shovel, and I didn’t have a spare. Jeanette had been offering me a work phone for a few months now, for use during our outings as Master and Servant. I’d turned her down. It felt like a bribe, and we were already bound more closely than I liked. We practically lived in each other's heads at times. </p>
<p>
  <i>Of course!</i>
</p>
<p>“Jeanette, you beautiful, vampire bitch,” I hissed, a triumphant smile stretching my lips. </p>
<p>I couldn’t call Edward or Malicia, but <i>she</i> could. </p>
<p>Closing my eyes wasn’t strictly necessary, but it helped me focus, especially at a time like this. It would be a relief to slip into Jeanette’s skin for just a few minutes, to forget I was trapped in a box, bleeding, scared, and alone. </p>
<p>Jeanette’s walls were down, and for the second time in a day, I found myself off-footed, stumbling as I tried to regain my bearings. It was strange, how completely we could merge. When the walls were completely down, it wasn’t like watching her on a television screen. It was like sliding into her skin, becoming the starring role in a movie. Her movie.

</p>
<p>I couldn’t quite make sense of where I was at first. Everything was abstract sensation as I settled into Jeanette’s perspective. Soft. Silk sheets beneath my knees, under my shins, tangled between my toes. A weight settled behind me, and I gasped as a man’s thick shaft slipped from between my folds, spent. If I craned my neck, I knew I’d see Jason, a satisfied smirk on his face.</p>
<p>Meng Die was spread-eagled on the bed beneath me, dark hair fanned across the pillows, her ice-blue silk robe a startling contrast to the scarlet of the sheets. She’d unwrapped herself like a present, a gift meant just for the two of us. Just for me and my wolf.  Her skin was smooth, flawless, and bare. </p>
<p>I couldn’t help but follow the lines of her body. Her narrow, angular shoulders, the dips of her clavicles, her modest breasts, and the light flush across her chest. Her small pink nipples. I watched her tweak one rosy bud, and things low in my body tightened, molten want surging to my core. I was aching, ready, so <i>hungry</i>. She was ready too, so tight around my fingers. The taut planes of her stomach bunching, hips rolling, needy, wanton as she thrust her cute little quim against my mouth. She tasted so damn <i>good</i>. </p>
<p><i>Soon</i>, an alien voice whispered. </p>
<p>It was almost enough to startle me, to draw my eyes away from the vision that was Meng Die at that moment. It wasn’t my voice. Not Jeanette’s. It was older. Ancient and...evil. It wanted and wanted and was <i>never</i> satisfied.</p>
<p>Meng Die pushed her fingers into my hair and tugged hard. I cried out, and she moaned, rolling her hips that one last time, thighs trembling against the sides of my face, a telltale sign she was coming. I hid a smile. <i>Yes, lovely. Quiver. All for me.</i> </p>
<p>“Yes, God, right, there—ah!” </p>
<p>The moment she spilled over the edge that delicious hunger loomed, crashed over Jeanette it knocked us apart, but still left us both reeling. Distantly I could feel my body arching, spasming with an echo of the pleasure I hadn’t intended to drop in on. </p>
<p>Jeanette tried to draw back from Meng Die, startled, and wrenched her own hair. </p>
<p>“Ma petite?” she whispered. </p>
<p>Meng Die huffed. “Again?” </p>
<p>Jason smirked. “You owe me a fifty. I told you she’d say it. That’s the third time this month.” </p>
<p>There was a bet on whether Jeanette would say my name? Why would she...? My cheeks burned when I finally understood what Jason meant, and even blushing hurt. And here I thought this night couldn’t get more awkward. Silly me.

</p>
<p>Jeanette disentangled herself from Meng Die’s grip and draped herself in the scarlet bedsheets. I was grateful we were at least stuck in her mindscape. Her bedroom was still a damn sight better than the cramped coffin. She gave Jason a light shove. </p>
<p>“Non, mon loup. Ma petite has dropped in unannounced.” Jeanette pursed her lips and gestured vaguely at her temple. “What is so urgent you chose <i>now</i> of all times to contact me?” </p>
<p>She failed to shield during sex, as usual, and she was pissed at <i>me</i>? That was rich. I’d have told her where she could shove her attitude if I weren’t one, in danger of suffocating, two still reeling post-orgasm, and three, just grateful that I had this lifeline at all. So I told her the truth. </p>
<p>“I was knocked unconscious by a demon-possessed woman and buried alive in a bombed-strapped coffin. I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, how much air I have left, and there were only thirty minutes on the timer last I checked. Probably closer to twenty now that we’ve wrapped up the hanky-panky. I don’t have a cell phone to call Edward. I need you to call him. Right the fuck now.”</p>
<p>Jeanette’s eyes bugged, and she made several choking sounds before she could manage, “Demon...bomb...coffin...?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” I snapped. “Edward. Call. Now!”</p>
<p>Jeanette tripped several times as she attempted to locate her cell phone. Graceful, poised Jeanette, staggering around the room in a tizzy, trying to find a cell phone. It spoke volumes about how fucked the current situation was. Eventually, Meng Die located the phone, and I relayed the number to Jeanette. We both waited, breathless, for the phone to ring. I wasn’t even sure the call would even go through. Signal was abysmal, no doubt because of the centuries of metaphysical torture clogging the airwaves here. It should have been our first clue that something was wrong with Lockridge. Disruption on this scale usually only occurred near mass graves.</p>
<p>It was the longest four seconds of my life, but the dial tone finally started. Edward answered on the second ring. </p>
<p>“Hello?” </p>
<p>“Dieu Soit Loué!” Jeanette breathed. “Am I speaking to Death?” </p>
<p>"You are. May I ask why I'm speaking to the Master of Saint Louis?”</p>
<p>Edward’s tone was wary. The last time he’d been in St. Louis on a job, he’d been Jeanette’s unwitting backup plan if I’d failed to kill Nikolaos. Edward didn’t appreciate being anyone’s pawn. It hadn’t endeared her to him. Worse, her schemes had forced him to stick his neck out for me more than once. If she was calling, it wouldn’t mean anything good. </p>
<p>“Ma petite is in danger and unable to communicate for herself. I am acting as a liaison through the bond we share.” </p>
<p>She gave him a concise rundown of what I’d learned, starting with Audrey’s revelations, and ending with my current predicament. By the time she was through, Edward was actually swearing under his breath. </p>
<p>“Tell Anita that Malicia’s just arrived. We think we’ve uncovered Verity’s burial site. Malicia spotted the townspeople moving in toward the community center, and what looked like zombies rising in the town square. Would Anita know anything about that?” </p>
<p>“They’re not zombies,” I said, frustrated by the lag when Jeanette had to relay the information for me. “The souls are trapped inside perfectly mummified bodies, and Audrey is allowing them to move again. It’s not like any necromancy I’ve ever seen. I won’t be able to control them, even if I somehow survive the next fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>Edward muttered another curse. “Great. Just great. Here’s Malicia.” </p>
<p>There was a rustle of fabric, a brief exchange of words, and then Malicia’s lightly accented voice chimed, “Ms. Blake? Or is this her Master?” </p>
<p>“Either,” Jeanette said. “The formalities matter very little to me at the moment, as you can imagine. Call me whatever you like, I really don’t give a damn.” </p>
<p>Malicia’s laugh was short and strained. “Ah, I remember you. Jeanette, wasn’t it? One of Belle’s girls?” </p>
<p>Jeanette paused, full lips twisting down into a frown. “Have we met?”</p>
<p>“I think you would have known me as part of the Wicked Truth. The Council love their little pet names, don’t they?”</p>
<p>Jeanette’s spine stiffened ever-so-slightly. “Yes, they do.” </p>
<p>“Bomb,” I prompted. “How do we defuse the bomb?” </p>
<p>Jeanette relayed the question, and there was an excruciatingly long back and forth over the block of C4, the wires attached, the digital readout, the placement in the coffin, and so on. When I was through, Malicia actually breathed a sigh of relief. </p>
<p>“Thank God Summer Fox was a basic bitch.” </p>
<p>“Pardon?” </p>
<p>The question was Jeanette’s, but I silently echoed it. </p>
<p>“Well, C4 is no joke, but the setup is pretty simple, all things considered. They’re made for demolition. Big bang, things go boom. It’s not a precision instrument. Demolition explosives are typically detonated by an electrical charge. You’ll want to disrupt the current running through the wires and into the squib.” </p>
<p>“Could you speak English, please?” Jeanette asked, at almost the same time I did. </p>
<p>“If you have something sharp, use it to cut both wires, then remove the blasting cap. This model isn’t pressure sensitive, but even so, I’d wait to remove the coffin lid until we can find you after disarming this bad boy. Better me than you, right? Any idea where you are? Maybe you could use some of that vaunted necromancy to get a picture of your surroundings.” </p>
<p>I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to settle into the cold, cramped confines of the coffin and try to parse out where I was. But there was a bomb ticking the seconds of my life away, and a host of trapped souls rising from the earth to hunt my allies. </p>
<p>“I will be with you,” Jeanette whispered. “No matter what comes.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” I swallowed thickly and closed my eyes. </p>
<p>The pain slammed into me, drove the air from my lungs, and drew a soft whimper from my lips. Everything hurt, and I could barely force my eyes open, let alone reach for my power. It was frigid; the pressure was immense, and my necromancy strained like a tendon pulled taut. I had to claw for every inch through the soil. There were impressions in the dirt where human bodies once lay. There’d been so many. Even the little outbuilding on top of me had been home to at least six. </p>
<p>Outbuilding. It was an outbuilding. One I’d seen when we’d been settling into our hotel room.</p>
<p>“I’m in town,” I forced out. “Buried under the dirt floor of the maintenance shed behind the inn.” </p>
<p>“We’re coming, Anita,” Malicia promised. “Hold on tight.” </p>
<p>Then she hung up. I was alone in the coffin, but for the lingering sense of Jeanette’s presence. I dug into my pockets, fingers shaking as I withdrew my keys, and found the pair of nail clippers I’d bought last year. I’d gotten tired of scraping chicken blood from under my nails and decided to keep them short. The lesbian jokes had increased at work. The joke was on them. I was about to defuse a bomb.</p>
<p>Eat your heart out, Jamison. </p>
<p>“Wish me luck.” </p>
<p>“Good luck, mon ciel étoilé.” </p>
<p>I sucked in a deep breath and snipped the first wire.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nothing happened. </p><p>Breath left me in a rush. An echoing sigh ticked the inside of my skull as Jeanette’s relief washed through me, a balm to soothe my ragged nerves. Having her in my head had been awkward for the past few weeks. Hell, it’d been awkward for the last few <i>minutes</i>, but I had to admit, it left me relaxed. My body felt supple, sexy. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was something that could be, no <i>should</i> be desired. </p><p>I hadn’t had an orgasm that potent in...well...ever. Sex with Curtis had been great. Our first night together had been full of awkward mishaps, laughter, and it had been sweet. He’d done his best not to hurt me. Every subsequent time had gotten better. It hadn’t been just lust. I’d loved him. I hadn’t touched myself much in the years after he’d died. It felt hollow without that connection. I hadn’t been able to connect with anyone on the same level until I met Richard. And...Jeanette. There’d been a connection, however tenuous, before she marked me. </p><p>Her presence in my head was the only thing keeping me grounded. Her implacable control, forged through centuries where betraying weakness was a fatal flaw, allowed me to wipe my streaming eyes, and steady my hands. She absorbed the pain, made it her own, and loaned me the acuity of her senses. </p><p>The wood grain above my head came into sharper focus, and I could make out the filament beneath the slender red plastic protruding from the C4. I snipped the second cable and removed the cap carefully, releasing another shaky exhale when nothing disastrous happened. Now came the waiting game. I lay in the dark, straining to hear any sounds of approach. With Jeanette’s power riding me, I could hear vermin chittering outside the box, an unneeded reminder of my time in Grandma Flores’ broom closet. I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything else.</p><p>The scent of pine was sharp in my nose, though it was almost immediately overshadowed by the waft of something tantalizing just under my nose. Warm, salty, metallic, and so damn good it made my mouth water. I swore I could taste it. More of the stuff washed across my tongue and slid down the back of my throat. </p><p>“What is that?” </p><p>“Blood. Yours, I imagine. It feels like you’ve lost a molar.” </p><p>Ah. So this was what it tasted like on the other side of things. </p><p>“Great. Bert’s gonna <i>love</i> that. Yet more workman’s comp that he’ll be shelling out on my behalf. I think he’s going to fire me at this rate. He’s already put me on probation.” My laugh sounded bitter, even to me. I hummed a little tune to myself. “What do you do with an ousted animator? What do you do with an ousted animator? What do you do with an ousted animator? Early in the morning…”</p><p>“Mr. Vaughn will not fire you, ma petite. I will make him an offer he can’t refuse.”</p><p>“Don’t kill my boss.” </p><p>“I assure you, the transaction will be completely legal,” she said, voice dripping sweet poison. </p><p>“Why don’t I believe you?” </p><p>“Because you are an incredibly discerning and beautiful woman, mon trésor. Now, I believe there is someone approaching.” </p><p>She was right. Heavy boots impacted the earth just above me, and I heard muffled voices just above me. The rat-a-tat of automatic weapons fire sounded above us, and a scream split the night air. A shovel scraped the lid of the coffin. Someone was clearing the dirt fast, and I hadn’t been buried deep.</p><p>Fingers punched through the wood, forming pale claws before wrenching the entire lid free. I lurched upright, sucking in a lungful of air, almost sobbing again, this time in sheer relief. I was free. </p><p>Rage came quickly on the heels of the relief. I wasn’t sure why Audrey hadn’t turned me into a mummy. Maybe she’d just wanted to capitalize on my terror. Maybe my ties to Jeanette made it impossible. The reason didn’t ultimately matter. I didn’t hold many things sacred, but this was one of them. You didn’t sell your fellow man out to the monsters. </p><p>Not everything with fangs or claws was a monster. Not every human was a good person. But you didn’t do things like this. You didn’t summon demons to settle a disagreement. You didn’t feed people to it, year after year to keep yourself and your cult alive. You didn’t stuff a person into a coffin with a ticking time bomb. </p><p>Audrey Howell was going to pay for this. Every single person who supported her was going to suffer. I’d free the trapped souls in the square, and God have mercy on the ones that the demon had been <i>benevolent</i> enough to spare.</p><p>My body throbbed in time with my heart, but it was a distant ache as I took stock of my surroundings. The maintenance shed was small, ten feet by twelve feet. Barely large enough to fit a push mower, a few garden tools, and a pile of firewood. I reached idly for the ax resting on top of the wood pile. </p><p>I tested its weight. I wasn’t as good with my off hand, but it would have to do. Jeanette was still lingering in the back of my mind. She’d trained with both. Worst-case scenario, I could fall back on her expertise. </p><p>Malicia stood just above me, almost blending into the shadows. She’d tucked a long-sleeved thermal shirt into black tactical pants and pushed her blonde hair under a patrol cap. She had an AR slung across her front, and she had her torso turned slightly toward the door, as if she expected something to burst through at any second. There was no trace of humor in her face now. Her pale eyes were flat and cold. She looked as unhappy as I felt. </p><p>“Are you alright?” she asked, eyeing my right arm. The bone protruded visibly, straining the fabric of my jacket. It should have hurt like hell, but oddly, I could barely feel it. I’d pay for it later, but for now, adrenaline and vampire mind-games shielded me from the worst of it.</p><p>“No, but we can’t exactly do anything about it, can we?”</p><p>“I suppose not. I take it Howell took your firearm?” </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Well, maybe that’s for the best. Our bullets aren’t doing much against these things, anyway. Most of the corpses they raised followed us here. Otto and Edward are trying to take them apart at the joints. Standard procedure for the shambling dead, right?” </p><p>“What did I just tell them? Not zombies. They’re more like you, honestly. There’s a semblance of a soul there, and with vampires, you always go for the head and heart. The adipocere is probably shielding their center of mass. Pulp the brain.”</p><p>Malicia’s mouth pressed into an unhappy line, but she nodded. I stalked past her, still grumbling, and into a scene straight from a Hammer Horror film. </p><p>In the 1970s, the British film production company released a series of schlock exploitation films. They’d single-handedly shaped the public perception of vampires and therians for the worse for decades. They’d made a mess for animators, too. Most people still believed that we could raise mummies. That voodoo equated to Satanism. That zombies could rise from the grave and infect others, resulting in shambling hordes of undead. </p><p>Like the one currently moving toward us. There had to be at least thirty moving ponderously, the gray wax flaking off as they moved, exposing leathery skin and yellowing bones beneath. Lank hair clung to their skulls, and every face, young, old, male, or female, was twisted in agony. </p><p>Something in me simply...snapped. White noise filled my ears, and I drifted in that sterile place where nothing hurt, and everything made sense. Action. Reaction. Simple, cathartic. I pushed my body hard, air burning in my lungs, body aching, but it was distant, easy to ignore while I floated.</p><p>I reached the nearest mummy, a woman in the tattered remains of a blue gingham dress. She was taller than I was, and I had to get a running start, leap, and bring the ax down, cleaving her skull in two. It caved like a rotted pumpkin. Blood and viscous liquid splattered my front. Either it had long since rotted, or I’d misjudged my strength, because the ax sank down to her collarbone, and I had to yank through the side of her neck to free the blade and lunge for the next mummy. </p><p>This mummy wore a plain cotton shirt and brown trousers, held up by suspenders. He’d been going bald before the demon sucked the life from his body. I swung, parting the head from the shoulders, before cleaving the skull. Less mess. </p><p>And it continued like that for several minutes. Decapitate a mummy, crush its skull, and move on. With every death, I swore I felt a presence brush past me, heard a whispered, “thank you,” as the spirit moved on. The pressure in my head lessened. </p><p>“Ma petite, stop. They’re dead. You’ve won.” </p><p>Jeanette’s voice made me jump. I raised the dripping ax into a guard position. It was awkward. My arm was aching. Pain was seeping back into my awareness. My jacket clung unpleasantly to my front, and something about the consistency of pudding had gathered in my bra. It smelled foul. Old blood and putrefied flesh. </p><p>Edward, Otto, and Malicia stood a few feet back, each with a tidy sum of headless bodies. All three were staring at me, and at first, I couldn’t understand why. Then I looked down. </p><p>There were fifteen bodies stacked at my feet, savaged almost beyond recognition. Gore slicked the ground in a ring around me. Think Lizzie Borden meets <i>The Mummy</i>.</p><p>“Goddess,” Malicia breathed. “What are you?” </p><p>Otto’s eyes glittered, and his lips had curled into that ghost of a smile once again. “A serial killer.”</p><p>Edward was smiling too, but it never touched his eyes. “She’s the scariest motherfucker in the room.” </p><p>Hearing Harley’s dubious praise almost made me smile.</p><p>“Damn straight,” I said. </p><p>I tried to keep my back straight. It was an effort not to sag boneless to the ground, to sob, or scream. The pain was returning with full force. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could maintain the connection with Jeanette. We’d never pushed the boundaries this far or for this long. I couldn’t afford to be dead weight now. Not until Audrey Howell was dead. </p><p>“Not that this isn’t touching, but they may be mummifying my sister as we speak. Don’t you think we ought to do something about that?” </p><p>Edward quirked a brow at her. “These are only the ones they’ve raised. I’d bet a hundred grand that they’ve got scads buried elsewhere, just waiting to be raised. We have limited munitions, Anita can’t control them. She’s good, but even she can’t go forever. You’ve seen her arm. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t lose mobility. I’m not sure what the gunk would do to Otto’s beast form, or to you if either of you’re forced to use your teeth on these bastards. I’d say wading through them is a bad idea.” </p><p>“Who says you must go through?” Jeanette asked. Her voice was growing faint. I didn’t think we’d be able to maintain the connection much longer. </p><p>“What do you mean?” </p><p>“I believe there is a saying you teach children. There are four ways to attack a problem. Over, under, around, and through.” </p><p>I caught the flavor of her thoughts and grinned. </p><p>“Jeanette, you beautiful, beautiful, vampire bitch,” I repeated. “I could kiss you.” </p><p>“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, ma petite.” </p><p>Then she was gone, leaving the impression of vague disappointment and a sigh lingering in my ears.</p><p>Edward turned his stare on me. “What’s that smile for, Blake?” </p><p>“I’ve got a plan.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“The mighty Executioner, afraid of heights?” Malicia’s chuckle was a devilish whisper of sound in the darkness. “My, what a fearsome creature you are.” </p>
<p>I might have come up with a witty retort if my tongue hadn’t been glued to the roof of my mouth. It hurt to swallow, and what little spit I produced tasted like blood. My arms were locked tight around her neck, and if she’d been a living, breathing person, I’d have strangled her by now. Of course, if she’d been a living, breathing person, we wouldn’t have been hovering fifteen feet off the ground, watching as Edward and Otto leaped from building to building, unloading their spoils. </p>
<p>Only a few mummies remained in the square, milling to and this way and that, with no clear direction. So long as we stayed out of sight and earshot, it appeared we could escape notice. Our plan should take every mummy above ground out. After we got clear of Lockridge, Edward would call in a backhoe and overturn every clod of dirt within the city limits. Every corpse would need to be burned to ash and spread into different bodies of water. Van Cleef might even see about bringing in a few priests, just to be safe. </p>
<p>I found my voice at last and hissed, “You change your tune fast, don’t you? You were pissing yourself an hour ago. Where’s this bravado coming from?” </p>
<p>“Perhaps it’s the knowledge that I can drop you,” she said. </p>
<p>“I think you’re scared you’re sister’s already dead, and you don’t want to take her head off.”</p>
<p>Malicia went very still, the way only the dead can. We dipped slightly toward the community center roof, and the sudden gust of wind tossed my hair into my face. </p>
<p>Another violent shudder ran up my spine. After the marks closed, the shakes began. The demon’s followers were gathered to sacrifice Verity, which left the town all but abandoned. We’d broken into one of the cultist’s empty homes to stock up on supplies and change clothes. There had been little in the way of guns, but we had found enough improvised materials in the houses needed to get the job done. </p>
<p>Despite two new thermal shirts and a down coat, I couldn’t get warm. My skin felt clammy, my eyelids were heavy, my chest felt too tight. If I hadn’t been dangling fifteen feet up, I’d probably have passed out by now. </p>
<p>“I can’t decide if you’re stupidly brave, or just stupid.” </p>
<p>“A bit of both, usually,” I sighed. “Are they in position?” </p>
<p>“Almost. Otto is assuming his beast form, and they’re preparing to evacuate. Do you think you can call her, necromancer?”</p>
<p>No, I wasn't sure. I’d never felt <i>less</i> confident in my abilities. But Malicia had saved my life, and I owed it to her to try. </p>
<p>“I’ll do whatever I can.”</p>
<p>“If it comes down to a choice between you and Verity...” </p>
<p>“Do what you have to do.” </p>
<p>It wasn’t like I’d be able to outrun what was coming anyway, even if I’d been right as rain. Flying was the only chance of getting out in one piece. </p>
<p>Malacia began a slow glide toward the sidewalk below. What looked to be three undead fraternity brothers guarded the door, Letterman jackets hanging loosely off their dessicated frames. We’d have a few seconds before they’d round on us and signal the cultists inside the building. It would have to be enough. </p>
<p>“For what it’s worth,” she began, voice quiet and thoughtful.” I think you’d make an excellent Horseman.”</p>
<p>My throat tightened, and I forced a quiet laugh before I could do something pathetic. Like cry. </p>
<p>“Better than Otto, at least.” </p>
<p>She snorted. “Much, much better than Otto.”</p>
<p>There was a soft snarl from the darkness. He’d heard me. Excellent. </p>
<p>Malacia touched down on the snowy sidewalk with a barely audible crunch. I doubted the mummies even heard it over the continued strains of The Carpenters warbling from the broken jukebox. Malicia planted her foot and pivoted, delivering a punishing kick to the lock. The door splintered under the onslaught, and <i>Top of the World</i> spilled into the night. </p>
<p>The mummy brothers of Delta Kappa Epsilon rounded on us, groping blindly for the source of the unfamiliar noise. </p>
<p>What happened next was impossible to describe. Through Jeanette’s marks I was immune to vampire mind tricks. She was really <i>that</i> fast. I’d never seen anything move like Malicia. She reminded me viscerally of a King Cobra, coiled and deadly, striking with brutal speed and efficiency. I only had vague impressions of movement, a horrible squelching sound, and then silence. </p>
<p>When she came into focus again, all three mummies were supine in the snow, gray matter dribbling from their eye sockets. Malicia wiped a short, steel blade clean on her tac pants, grimacing. </p>
<p>“I was hoping to avoid that.” </p>
<p>“No use crying over spilled brains. Hand over the blade and prepare the bleed. The next few minutes could get hairy.” </p>
<p>Malicia twirled the knife between her fingers, and it gleamed liquid silver in the moonlight. It came to a stop with the hilt facing me, and I took it. My hand was twitching so badly I almost dropped it. </p>
<p>“Hold on to me,” I whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t let go. Not until I’m through.” </p>
<p>Malacia got a fistful of my puffy down coat and dragged me into the lobby, past the judgemental herd of deer heads, and toward the sanctuary. A chorus of voices rose in a frantic chorus, speaking in tongues, punctuated every once in a while by a wild ululation that sent fresh shivers down my spine. She ripped the folding doors free of their track and flung them across the room. They upended the wire rack, sending pamphlets and maps flying, and smashed the glass display counter into a thousand glittering shards. </p>
<p>Hundreds of cowled heads turned to face our direction, and an eerie hush fell over the crowd. The weight of their stares bore down on me, the psychic pressure driving railroad spikes of pain into my temples. My knees gave out, and only Malicia’s grip on my shoulders kept me from hitting the floor. </p>
<p>“No!” she hissed. “We did not come this far and suffer this much to die like this. Who are you?” </p>
<p>“Anita Blake?” </p>
<p>“No.” </p>
<p>“The Executioner.” </p>
<p>“Try again.” </p>
<p>I grit my teeth against the pain, forced myself to take her hand and stand up. I scanned the room and found Verity on the dais. She was slumped over in a chair, eyes glazed and unfocused. Audrey was preparing to tip her back into a vat of cloudy gray water. </p>
<p>It was now or never. </p>
<p>“I am the scariest motherfucker in this room,” I muttered. Then I seized her hand, opening a gash an inch deep in her palm before opening a similar, though much shallower, cut on my own. </p>
<p>The instant we touched, power flared, sweeping outward like a boreal wind, touching every shape in the room. The cloaked figures shook, and some screamed as they felt it pass. I could taste them on my tongue, dust and ash. My power paused over each one thoughtfully for a mere fraction of a second. I knew I could snuff out their ill-gotten sparks, leave them husks, like the mummies lying broken in the street.</p>
<p>But I only had so much energy and they weren’t what I was after. </p>
<p>We walked calmly hand in hand toward the front of the room, blood plinking to the floor as we went. Ideally, I’d want Verity’s blood to attempt a ritual like this, but under the circumstances, Malicia would have to do. Blood called to blood. They were sisters. More than that, they were twins. They’d shared a womb, and to hear Malicia tell it, a placenta. How much closer could you get?  </p>
<p>“You have no power here, animator,” Audrey sneered. “She’s mine. You can’t call the sort of dead I make.” </p>
<p>“Maybe not,” I said, a chilly little smile creeping onto my face. “But you’re wrong about one thing. I’m not an animator. I’m a necromancer. Which means I call all undead. <i>Including</i> vampires.” </p>
<p>The problem was, I had no idea how to do that. So I’d lean on what I did best and pray it worked. </p>
<p>I raised my voice and shouted, “Verity Shankland, with steel, I call you from your grave!” </p>
<p>There was no headstone to touch, so I settled for tapping the communion table with the steel blade. It felt ridiculous, but the effect on Verity was immediate. She jerked upright like a puppet on strings. Audrey tried to tug her back down, with no success. </p>
<p>I pressed our hands to the table, smearing it in a bloody communion, and shouted, “With blood, I call you from your grave! With power, I call you from your grave! Hear me and obey!  Rise from your grave and speak with the living!”</p>
<p>Verity’s eyes flew open, horror seeping into wide, quicksilver eyes. They swept the room, and when they fell on the pool behind her chair, she retched. </p>
<p>“Fly!” I ordered. “Get us the hell out of here!” </p>
<p>Verity sprang to her feet, and vaulted the first set of pews, taking to the air. She might have kicked a cultist or two along the way. She seized me under one arm while Malicia grabbed the other, and together they hoisted me above the line of cultists, past the overturned jukebox, out the door, and into the chilly night air. </p>
<p>It was Verity who insisted on carrying me, and I didn’t argue. I couldn’t even find the energy to scream as we gained the altitude we’d need to escape Lockridge and survive the fallout. </p>
<p>We were a quarter of a mile up when the timers we’d placed around Lockridge reached zero and the pressure cookers went off, sending shrapnel into the surrounding buildings. Which, in turn, set off the crockpots full of homemade napalm Edward and Otto had scattered around town. Orange light blossomed from below us and black smoke belched into the sky.</p>
<p>Screams filled the night as Lockridge became a literal hell on earth. </p>
<p>My eyes slid shut. Was it insensitive to say I’d heard worse?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Josef welcomed us into his home until they could make travel arrangements. For Edward, Otto, Verity, and Malicia, that meant an evening flight to Vegas. From there, who knew? Otto was still in a probationary period, but his performance during this mission had earned him consideration for the vacant Horseman position. Though, apparently, he had competition. Edward casually mentioned that I was also being considered.</p>
<p>I’d turn it down if they offered it. If this mission was par for the course, I wanted no part in it. I’d stick to garden variety homicide, thank you very much. </p>
<p>Besides, I was a title snob. Death sounded cooler.</p>
<p> When all was said and done, the doctors told me I had a compound fracture, three lacerations, fractures on both cheekbones, and a hairline fracture on my jawline, and a missing molar. I had twenty-six stitches total, an appointment with a dentist, and a cast on my right arm. There was nothing for the facial fractures but time. At least I had a leg up in that department. As a human servant, I could probably cut the doctor’s estimates in half. </p>
<p>Only one medical mystery remained. The doctors couldn’t explain the shaking. No matter how many layers I pulled on, the tremors wouldn’t stop. Aside from a mild concussion, my brain scans looked fine. My temperature was normal. There were no signs of internal bleeding. The doctors put it down to shock. My fragile female constitution cracking under the strain of what I’d gone through. They’d smile and spew useless, patronizing platitudes. Don’t be afraid to cry, or get upset. It’s okay to be scared. Let it all out. You’re safe now. Don’t push yourself too hard. Maybe you should call someone to pick you up. You shouldn’t be doing this alone.</p>
<p>Sexist pricks. </p>
<p>They were right about one thing, though. I couldn’t do this alone. Even if I could have swallowed my pride and asked Edward to stay behind, I would never have been able to board a plane. There wasn’t enough Xanax in the world to make that three-hour-long trip bearable. Saint Louis to Presdale was a twenty-hour round trip by car. Who on earth could I ask to put their life on hold to drag my sorry, shocky ass back home to St. Louis? </p>
<p>Strangely, Verity had volunteered. She’d been overly attentive since we’d left Lockridge, watching over me when I slept. Raina’s sendings lacked their usual punch when she sat by my bedside, so I grudgingly allowed it. The hero worship was still a little creepy, though. If I was going on a road trip, I’d rather travel with someone I knew well.</p>
<p>Ronnie was on a case, and busy training her new psychic recruit, former Police Detective Jessica Arnet. Catherine Maison-Gillette and Monica Vespucci were acquaintances of mine, but I wasn’t close enough to either of them to ask for a favor of this magnitude. Jeanette had a Kiss to run, and it was the middle of the week, so Richard was out. </p>
<p>Grandma Blake would make the trip, but it would be taxing at her age. Grandma Flores was a definite no. She’d probably say I’d gotten what I deserved for dabbling in things I shouldn’t. </p>
<p>Calling dad had been out of the question. Knowing I had a dangerous job and seeing the evidence of it were two very different things. The second he saw the bruises, he’d be trying to persuade me to move home and work as a tech in his veterinary practice. It was appealing in theory, but I suspected I’d get bored after the second month. Sitting still wasn’t in my nature.</p>
<p>I liked the big city. I liked my job. I liked my friends, and I liked my life the way it was, monsters and all. Sometimes that meant I got hurt. So be it. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Ultimately, the decision was made for me when Richard’s car pulled into Josef’s drive two days later. </p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” I asked, leaning heavily against one side of the pergola. “It’s a school day.” </p>
<p>I was fighting to stay upright, shaking hard enough to make the stiff strands of ivy jump. My head ached. Damn Hydrocodone. It did this to me every time. I had to blink to keep Richard in focus.</p>
<p>Maybe it was my imagination, but he looked yummier than usual. He’d abandoned his usual tacky sweater vests for a cardigan and white long-sleeved cotton shirt. It stretched tight over his chest, hinting at the muscle beneath. I wanted to slip my hands beneath the hem of the shirt and warm my fingers against all that bronzed skin. </p>
<p>Richard caught me looking and smiled. He approached the pergola slowly, as though he was afraid to spook me. When he took one of my hands, I almost moaned in relief. He was so incredibly <i>warm</i>. I wanted to wrap him around me like a heavy down blanket. </p>
<p>“Yes, it’s a school day, but I’ve got paid time off. You’re my girlfriend, Anita. I’m not about to leave you stranded in Minnesota. Especially after what happened.” </p>
<p>“But-“ </p>
<p>Richard leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine, cutting off my protest. This time I actually <i>did</i> moan, the trickle of sound spilling into his mouth. His lips parted, tongue flicking lightly along the seam of my mouth. Anywhere we touched, warmth seeped into my skin. I slid my hands under his shirt, pressed my fingers against his firm stomach, let his heat sear me. </p>
<p>His hands slid into my hair, nails tracing my scalp, his tongue tangling with mine. There was even an edge of teeth. The kiss was yearning, desperate, a little feral. It was more vigorous than he’d ever allowed himself to be. He was always so careful, so afraid to break me. </p>
<p>One of my hands slid down to cup his ass, grinding his front against mine, and he broke away with a gasp. He staggered back a step, panting, eyes still wild. They were amber, a wolf’s eyes staring out at me from a human face. </p>
<p>“No,” he panted. “Not that. Not...not yet.” </p>
<p>“Okay,” I whispered. “But...thank you. It helped.” </p>
<p>He half smiled. “I practically mauled you.”</p>
<p>I didn’t know how to explain it to him, so I didn’t. I just shrugged and offered him a sheepish smile. </p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“I think I have something more therapeutic than a kiss waiting in the car.” </p>
<p>“Oh?” </p>
<p>He just smiled and offered me his arm, guiding me to the passenger’s side of the car. I took it, afraid I’d fall flat on my face if I didn’t. He helped guide me into the passenger’s seat and then rounded the car, sliding into the driver’s side. He reached into the back and pulled out two shapes. I examined them with a frown. </p>
<p>“What’s all this?” </p>
<p>“Smartfood White Cheddar Popcorn and a portable DVD player on loan from my friend Louis. I’ve got <i>The Producers</i> in there, but I’ve also brought <i>Young Frankenstein, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Heidi,</i> and <i>The Little Princess</i>. You said you liked Shirley Temple. You watched it with your mom, right? I talked to Ronnie and she said you still watch it sometimes when you're sick or...” He trailed off at the look on my face. </p>
<p>My vision went fuzzy and when I blinked, tears streamed down my cheeks. Richard looked a little panicked. </p>
<p>“I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?” </p>
<p>“No. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you so much this is...” I ducked my head and tried to hide a sniffle. “I really appreciate it. And I...I want to go to Thanksgiving at your house.” </p>
<p>“Really?” </p>
<p>“Really. I want to meet the family of the man who made me warm again.”</p>
<p>He laughed. “I don’t understand that you know.” </p>
<p>“I know.” </p>
<p>“Are you going to explain it?” </p>
<p>“Nope.” </p>
<p>He sighed. “I think I love you, Anita Blake, even if you are a pain in the ass.” </p>
<p>“And I think I might love you, Richard Zeeman. Even though you won’t let me fondle yours.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's the end of that! :) I may or may not be writing the start of Paramour tonight. </p>
<p>Also, I noticed a trend with the first several fics. I ended each one with a curse word in the last sentence or very close to the last sentence. So I think I'll try to keep that up. It seems in character for Anita. Thanks so much for taking the time to read these fics. :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeah, I know I'm not through with Cirque Du Sang as of the posting of this chapter. I'm doing both Cirque Du Sang and this (hopefully) shorter novelette or novella-length piece for NaNoWriMo. I think I can balance both, and I will endeavor not to be too spoiler-y. I mean Anita and Jeanette survive what's coming in Cirque Du Sang, though I don't think that's too much of a spoiler. </p>
<p>This raising doesn't tie too much into the rest of the story but I wanted to show Anita doing some animating work. I feel I've been kinda skimping on that in the first two or three fics. </p>
<p>And yes, I am taking a bit of a jab at Hamilton in this chapter. In the Harlequin, Edward tells Anita about two assaults Peter has made on his girlfriends, both of which withdrew consent sometime after sex started. Which, in a reasonable world would mean that Peter stopped whatever the hell he was doing and respected their wishes. Um. No. Hamilton has Anit Blake participate in this exchange; </p>
<p>""It means he's had two girlfriends in the last year. The first one was perfect. She was quiet, respectful, pretty. They were sweet together."</p>
<p>"What happened?" I asked.</p>
<p>"Her parents called one night and asked what kind of monster our son was, that he'd hurt their daughter."</p>
<p>"Hurt her how?"</p>
<p>"The usual. She was a virgin and they didn't do enough foreplay."</p>
<p>"It happens," I said.</p>
<p>"But the girl claimed that when she told him it hurt, he didn't stop."</p>
<p>"Sounds like buyer's remorse to me, Edward."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She withdrew consent and he didn't stop. That's rape. So yeah, I find it really gross and I'm calling it out.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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